Parallel Quest
by Elf Eye
Summary: Legolas' experiences & emotions during the period covered by the LOTR. Extension of 'The Nameless One' series.
1. Chapter 1: So It Begins

**Hello, folks. I have decided to do something really cheeky. I'm going to retell a substantial portion of the LOTR from Legolas' point of view. This is the first chapter of what is going to be a looooong story.**

**This should be considered part of 'The Nameless One' series because there will be references to characters like Tathar and Edwen Nana, plus the relationship between Legolas and both Aragorn and Gandalf will reflect the situation in 'The Nameless One', where Legolas has long known the two.**

**I didn't send this to Dragonfly for a beta reading because I have been off an entire month and am just desperate to post something _now_! Sometimes I can be as impatient as a child. So here goes.  
**

**Acknowledgement: Contains quotations from LOTR, both book & movie versions.**

******Chapter 1: So It Begins**

Tathar gazed disapprovingly at Legolas. He thought the exuberant Prince wanted reining in. "Your father is going to be very unhappy," he warned the Prince.

"I know," Legolas replied cheerfully, "but I won't let that affect me."

"How _could_ it affect you?" Tathar retorted. "You will be leagues away by the time he finds out about this latest escapade of yours. Now _I_, on the other hand, will be the one to break the news to him."

"Which you will no doubt do with your usual cleverness," said Legolas airily. "Anyway, Edwen Nana will intercede if Ada grows too indignant."

"You might be a little more solemn," said Tathar reprovingly. "This is a grave business."

"Of course it is—that is why I am going on this quest in the first place!"

"Seriously, Legolas."

"I am being serious, Tathar. Aragorn and Mithrandir are going to need my skills—particularly since they are saddled with that wretched Dwarf."

"Legolas!"

"Very well. I shall be quite serious. Tathar, we Elves owe much to Mithrandir, for he has been working on our behalf for many a year. As for Aragorn, I consider him a kinsman. The minute he pledged his sword to the Ringbearer, I knew that I must pledge my bow." Legolas broke into a grin. "It is a pity the Dwarf then felt obliged to pledge his axe. Had a nice ring to it, of course, but now I will be forced to get along with him for the Valar know how long!"

Tathar tried to raise his eyebrows after the fashion of Elrond but gave up after a minute and settled on rolling his eyes.

"Someday," he warned, "you may find yourself very grateful for the presence of that axe."

"I do not see how," Legolas scoffed, "except insofar as it will keep us well supplied with firewood."

"You know that his ax has hewn more than firewood," objected Tathar.

"Oh, very well," conceded Legolas grudgingly. "I suppose we can rely upon the Dwarf to deprive any Orc we meet of its toes. Perhaps, at a stretch, he will be able to cut a few off at the knees."

"Legolas, I have heard it said that the Naugrim are doughty warriors."

"And I have heard it said that a single dragon can send a whole pack of them running."

"That's not fair, Legolas. A single dragon can send a whole pack of Elves running, too. The only reasons Elves have suffered less from the depredations of dragons is that the worms would rather amass gold than collect songs."

Legolas knew this to be true, but he was saved the trouble of a reply by the arrival of Erestor.

"You are wanted in Elrond's chamber, Legolas. Plans are being laid, and Mithrandir wishes to draw upon your familiarity with the Misty Mountains."

Legolas nodded at Tathar and strode after Erestor. Left to his own devices, Tathar began to sort through Legolas' kit, for Legolas would be traveling even lighter than usual. As Tathar separated the necessary from the superfluous, he mused upon the events of the past weeks.

The Elves of Mirkwood had been guarding the creature Gollum for several months. Tathar remembered well that mortal's arrival, for he had been present in the Great Hall when Aragorn had delivered him into their hands. Grim-faced and weary, the Ranger had entered the chamber driving the cowering creature before him. His hands covered with bite marks, his face scored with scratches, the Dúnadan had been grateful when Thranduil's Elves had dragged Gollum off. The dungeon beneath the Great Hall had not been used since the last century, when it had briefly held a party of thirteen Dwarves. Now Gollum was cast into a cell, and Gandalf came to question him. The creature's shrieks reverberated throughout the Hall, and Elves had gathered in anxious knots.

"I never thought the wizard had it within him to be so cruel," said one, shuddering at the sound of a horrendous shriek.

"Nor did I," replied another. "He must be crueler than an Orc, even, to make that creature howl so."

Overhearing them, Tathar spoke up indignantly.

"I have taken my turn as guard outside the creature's cell, and I can assure you that Mithrandir treats him only as harshly as needful. The wizard does not torment the creature for his own amusement, as an Orc would!"

"Then why does the creature howl so dreadfully?"

"It is the creature's way. He doesn't speak properly. He yowls or wails or shrieks when he has a mind to be noisy, or snivels or whines when he is in a calmer frame of mind."

"Well, then, I wish Mithrandir wouldn't provoke him past calmness. If he were only sniveling or whining, we wouldn't hear him throughout the Hall. Folk could get some sleep!"

"The creature has valuable information, and Mithrandir must worm it out of him somehow. But, really, he hasn't done much worse than threaten. The creature is mortally afraid of fire, and I grant you that Mithrandir has had to make him uncomfortably warm, but he hasn't actually singed so much as a hair on his head."

"Lucky, too," rejoined the other Elf, "as the creature hasn't any locks to spare."

This was true. The creature presented a most pitiful appearance. His hair was scanty, his body skinny, and his skin scarred by the marks of whips and other signs of ill usage. Altogether, he was so withered and scrawny that he hardly looked threatening. Perhaps this is why the Elves were not as vigilant with Gollum as they should have been when, after forcing from the creature as much information as he thought he was likely to get without actually racking him, Gandalf left him in their care. The wizard had warned them that Gollum was more dangerous than he looked, but the Elves found it impossible to give credence to his words. Oddly, it was only Edwen Nana who argued that they should hold Gollum under the strictness of conditions. Generally she was the first to show kindness to the sick and unfortunate, but something Gandalf had told her about the creature must have turned her against it.

"You should keep it in its cell," she worried to Thranduil. "I am sure no good will come of allowing it outside."

Thranduil, however, brushed off her warning. Since recovering his son, he had grown indulgent toward those in his charge—except in the case of Legolas himself, of course! His anxious love for his son sometimes led him to restrict the Prince's movement in a manner that Legolas found frustrating. Would that the King had taken such pains with Gollum! Howsoever, he did not, and each day the creature was allowed to take the air in the branches of a solitary tree, its base guarded by a handful of Elves. So nonchalant did Thranduil grow that he sometimes permitted Legolas to be numbered amongst the warders. Indeed, Legolas had but lately left Gollum's guards and returned to the Great Hall when the blow fell.

When the news of Gollum's escape had first arrived at the Hall, Legolas had not understood the seriousness of the matter. Instead, he looked upon the incident as an opportunity to briefly escape from Mirkwood, where his father had confined him since he had been injured on his last journey, one that had taken him all the way to the Grey Havens and back. Eagerly the Prince volunteered to carry to Rivendell the news of the creature's escape. But as Legolas learned more of the attack that had enabled Gollum to give his guards the slip, his mood altered rapidly. Many were the guards who had died in the attack. Many were those whom Legolas had numbered amongst his friends. These were young Elves of his age, cruelly cut down by the Orcs who had surged from the forest, their approach mysteriously cloaked by some force that the Elves did not understand.

So it was that during the entire journey from Mirkwood to Rivendell, Legolas had not smiled even once, so great was his grief. Moreover, in addition to his sorrow, Legolas was burdened with shame. The young Elf's mind returned again and again to the distress that would be visited upon Gandalf when the agéd wizard learned that the creature he had sought so desperately had escaped from the keeping of the Elves. He also dreaded telling Aragorn that the Elves had failed to safeguard the creature that had cost him so much in time and blood.

Watching the Prince, Tathar felt anxious. He had never seen Legolas so grim, no, not even when the Prince had had disagreements with his father Thranduil. Indeed, when Prince and King quarreled, Tathar was always reassured by the fury evinced by the younger Elf. 'Legolas is in fine fettle', Tathar would say to himself, 'if he can speak with such vehemence. His spirit at least is not broken!' But now Legolas rode silently, as he had from the very start of their journey.

Their way would take them through Lothlórien, and Tathar hoped that Legolas' spirits would be lifted in that place of refuge. Tathar was delighted when, upon their arrival, they were greeted by Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin. He had feared that the brothers would be absent, patrolling the borders. But there they were, rushing to embrace Legolas as of old. To Tathar's distress, however, the Prince gave the three brothers the most perfunctory of replies and turned away as if he found their enthusiasm unbearable. Undeterred, the brothers loitered about the talan of the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel, where Legolas went to take counsel. When the Prince descended silently, his spirits not mended by the words of his elders, the brothers trailed anxiously after him, trying to engage him in conversation. He could not avoid answering when they addressed him directly, but they could not draw him out or make him laugh. At last, in desperation, Orophin deliberately fell from a tree, but not even that prank wrested a smile from Legolas.

"He's as stodgy as you, Haldir," Orophin complained as he picked a leaf from his braid.

"You must be patient with him," said Galadriel from behind. Orophin colored. He turned, bowing low to cover his embarrassment. He had not realized that Galadriel had seen him take his header.

"It was a great shock to Legolas, this attack upon Mirkwood," Galadriel continued. "You and your brothers must know that several of his friends were slain. He had been taking his turn guarding the creature. His friends arrived, and he chatted gaily with them before returning to the Hall. Shortly thereafter word came to the Hall of the attack. At first he did not comprehend the seriousness of the situation, but when he returned to scene, he found the bodies of his comrades hewn cruelly where they lay at the base of the tree in which the creature had taken shelter. But there is more to his grief than even that, for Legolas feels that he and his kin have failed Mithrandir, and Estel as well."

The brothers bowed their heads.

"His sorrow must indeed be great," murmured Haldir.

"Yes," Galadriel replied simply.

Lessoned by Galadriel, the brothers ceased their importuning of Legolas, and the Prince was grateful. This they knew even though he did not speak of the matter, for they saw it in his eyes. In a way, then, he did in the end draw comfort from them, for he could not help but perceive their concern, and he knew that it arose from their love for him.

A few days later, Legolas and his escort rode from Lothlórien and crossed the Misty Mountains via the Pass of Caradhras. Then the company turned north, making their careful way through Hollin. But they were unmolested by any foe and began to travel more quickly. As they neared their destination, Legolas grew even quieter than before, even though Tathar would not have thought that possible. When they at last rode through the gates of Rivendell, Legolas drew up his horse abruptly and slid from it to the ground, looking about warily as if he had never before seen the elegant buildings that surrounded him. Rapidly he strode from his companions, leaving Tathar to see to his mount. Tathar knew that the Prince would first go in search of Gandalf, and Tathar hoped that the wizard would say something to assuage Legolas' combined grief and guilt.

Ai! Gandalf was nowhere to be found. The wizard had ridden west, toward the Ford of Bruinen, Elrond told Legolas. Several days before, Glorfindel, too, had gone that way, crossing the Ford and searching the lands for sign of a Perian who was reputed to be making his way toward this Last Homely House east of the Sea. "For a message came to me," Elrond said, "from Gildor Inglorian of the House of Finrod. He and his companions encountered the Perian astray in the woods of Mithrandir's belovéd Shire and bearing a great burden without that wizard's guidance." But what the burden was, Elrond would not say.

That night Legolas awoke to the sound of soft but urgent voices. He arose and went to the window and there beheld several Elves, Glorfindel amongst them, bearing a small person, no taller than a child of twelve, upon a litter. Legolas knew at once that this was the Perian of whom Elrond had spoken. Accompanying the Perian and his elven escort were Aragorn, three other Periannath, and—Gandalf!

Legolas hastily yanked on his tunic and his leggings, running from his room in a disheveled fashion that was more like unto that of a Ranger than an Elf. Such was his eagerness to speak to Gandalf that he rounded a corner as heedlessly as any Dwarf—and very nearly ran into Aragorn.

"Whoa!" exclaimed the Dúnadan, holding up a hand to fend off the impetuous Elf. "It would behoove you to choose a better place and time to exercise your limbs!"

The Ranger studied the Elf with a critical air. "You look terrible," he announced with mock concern. Legolas feinted a blow at his head, which Aragorn, trained by the Elves, dodged with ease. As they scuffled, Legolas felt cheerful for the first time in weeks—but only for a moment, for he suddenly remembered that he would have to tell Aragorn, too, about Gollum's escape. Aragorn caught the swift change of emotion.

"What is the matter, mellon-nîn?" he asked, his concern real this time.

"You look tired and worn, Aragorn," Legolas answered. "First you must eat and rest. Later we will speak. Now I must go to Mithrandir."

"Unless your errand is of the greatest import, you should wait to speak to him. There has been brought to this House a Perian gravely injured. Gandalf has taken him to Elrond and will want to remain by his side as his wounds are treated."

Legolas considered.

"The news I would tell is indeed of great import, but it will keep, for it is of a grief that cannot be remedied of an instant."

"If that is so, then bear me company instead."

Legolas assented, and the two went to Aragorn's old room, where a change of clothes always awaited the Ranger. Legolas made a face as Aragorn peeled off his travel-stained garments.

"Aragorn, you smell like a swamp."

"Probably because I had to traverse one, my friend. Even you could not cross the Midgewater Marshes without picking up their stench."

"It is a long way from those marshes. Didn't you have an opportunity to bathe after you got through them?"

"Aside from dipping my feet in the Bruinen, I have remained unsullied by the taint of water for, lo, these many days," smirked Aragorn.

"Aragorn, are you a Man or a Troll? Do you know, sometimes I think an Orcs would have a greater care of its appearance!"

"Indeed? Tell me: would _you_ have stopped to bathe with a band of Ringwraiths on your tail?"

Legolas altered his manner at once.

"Nazgul? No, you can't mean that!"

"I do," Aragorn said gravely.

"How came you to be pursued by Ringwraiths?" asked Legolas, bewildered. "Have you been betrayed? But how? And by whom?"

"They weren't after me—although they would be if I were indeed to be betrayed. No, they sought my companion."

"The Perian?"

"Yes."

Legolas suddenly understood.

"The injured Perian, is he Bilbo's kinsman?"

"Aye, but let us speak no more of this matter. Gandalf would want us to hold our tongues until the tale can be told in council. Now tell me your news of great import."

Legolas sighed and looked down.

"Perhaps I ought to beg off by saying that this matter, too, should not be spoken of until the Council meets. But you are entitled to hear this, I think, for it concerns you nearly. Gollum has escaped."

Aragorn did not reply immediately. At last Legolas raised his head and looked at him. The Ranger stood gazing out the window. He looked thoughtful rather than angry. At last he spoke.

"Gollum did not escape unaided." It was not a question but a statement.

"His guards were ambushed by Orcs," Legolas confirmed.

"Events have been set in motion in many lands, I think," mused Aragorn. "Gollum's escape, the reappearance of the Ringwraiths, these surely are no coincidences. The same hand lies behind both."

"I _am_ sorry," said Legolas.

Aragorn turned toward him.

"Sorry? Yes, I, too, am sorry—sorry that evil has arisen. But I didn't create the evil, and neither did you, so don't be sorry on _that_ account.

Greatly relieved, Legolas smiled at his friend.

"You sound like Elrond!"

"Do I? I suppose that is no great surprise, as he has had a hand in my upbringing. But, come, Legolas, you said I might rest and eat. We have talked at our leisure, but now I would dine. Where is the food?"

"At this time of day, in the kitchen being prepared under the careful eye of the Cook. It is several hours still until the evening meal."

"Then let us creep into the kitchen and try our hand at thieving pies, as we used to when we were younger."

"That will not be necessary, Aragorn. Now we are grown, the Cook will not look askance if we stroll into the kitchen and help ourselves to a bit of bread and cheese."

"Where would be the pleasure in obtaining food in such an ordinary fashion, Legolas?" teased the Ranger. "Have you no sense of adventure?"

Now Legolas was grinning. He should have known that Aragorn would not be angry. His smile quickly faded, however. He still had Gandalf to face, and the wizard could be, well, _irascible_ was the mildest word that came to mind. Aragorn perceived his distress, and his jesting manner immediately dropped away.

"Don't worry, Legolas. Even if Gandalf is vexed, he won't be so for long."

"Aye, but during the short time he _is_ vexed, he may do a lot of damage."

"He'll cast no spell that can't be countered," Aragorn assured him. "In any event, nothing can be done about the matter for the time being. We may as well go steal those pies."

The two friends made their way to the kitchen, where they were very well entertained, the Cook seemingly having forgiven them for past depredations. Furnished not only with bread and cheese but also with cold meats and an excellent bottle of wine, they betook themselves to the garden. There they still remained hours later when Elrond sent Figwit in search of them.

"Aragorn! Legolas!" called that Elf as he caught sight of them where they lounged by the statue of Gil-galad. "Lord Elrond bids me see that you have all that is needful. Aragorn, he is very sorry that he has not been able to greet you properly. The Perian's condition was very grave, else he would not have neglected you so."

"Thank you, Figwit," Aragorn replied. "You may tell Lord Elrond that my needs have been attended to."

Not for the first time, Legolas wondered what had possessed Figwit's parents to give him such a name. Even Gandalf had commented upon its peculiar nature.

"If I didn't know better," he had said to Elrond, "I would think Figwit had some Perian blood, for it is just the sort of name one would expect to find among the Hobbits."

Elrond shook his head, bemused.

"I suspect the name has some meaning known only to his parents. Erestor used to amuse himself by treating it as an acronym and attempting to come up with a sensible string of words to match its letters. He long ago gave up the endeavor, however."

Now the bearer of the peculiar name returned to the Hall to reassure Elrond that all was well with his foster son. When he had gone, Aragorn suggested to Legolas that they, too, go into the Hall.

"If Elrond could take the time to check on my welfare," he observed, "then perhaps matters have gone well enough for Gandalf to be able to spare a moment." He urged Legolas to seek out the wizard.

"Speak to him, Legolas. I am sure he will not be so very angry. And even if he is, you might as well know that the sooner rather than the later. After all, once he breaks forth into wrathfulness, there is nothing for him to do but to begin recovering from it. It is true that for a time you will have to endure his ill humor, but at least this dreadful anticipation of yours will have been brought to an end. So your suffering, in sum, will be the shorter."

Legolas could not gainsay Aragorn's logic, and the two friends reentered the Hall. Aragorn volunteered to accompany Legolas to Gandalf's chambers, but Legolas declined the offer.

"Thank you, Aragorn, but I think I shall simply have to square my shoulders and face him on my own. That way he will feel free to say whatever he thinks, and I will get through the interview all the quicker."

"Oh, I doubt if he'd hold his tongue on _my_ account," Aragorn rejoined sardonically as he parted from the Elf.

Legolas did square his shoulders, and took a deep breath to boot, before he knocked upon the door to Gandalf's room. "Enter," called the familiar gravelly voice. Legolas did, but found to his disappointment that Gandalf was in the company of Erestor and Glorfindel. The latter was describing in minute detail everything he had learned during his search for Bilbo's kinsman. His manner distracted, Gandalf waved Legolas to a chair, handed him a glass of wine, and paid him no further mind. Sitting on edge, his beverage neglected, Legolas felt worse and worse as he listened to the balrog-slayer's tale. He suspected that the escape of Gollum was of even greater importance than he had believed.

Gandalf questioned Glorfindel at great length, probing for any detail, however slight, that might prove useful. At last the wizard sighed and leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed, his fingers pressed against his temple. Erestor and Glorfindel arose.

"You are weary, Mithrandir," said Erestor. "We will leave you to rest."

"Thank you," said Gandalf, his eyes still closed. Elrond and Glorfindel went to the door, where Glorfindel paused and looked back at Legolas, who had not moved.

"I will follow upon the instant," promised Legolas, and the two other Elves departed.

"Your news?" Gandalf said shortly. This was not an encouraging start, and Legolas sighed audibly. Gandalf opened his eyes and studied the young Elf. Perhaps it was his weariness, but his face looked hard.

"Well?" said Gandalf.

Legolas found himself taking another deep breath.

"Mithrandir, Gollum has escaped," he said simply. Anxiously he studied Gandalf's face, but the Istar's expression revealed nothing beyond his exhaustion. 'Is he angry?' Legolas wondered.

"Gwaihir hinted something of the sort," said Gandalf suddenly. "I suppose," he added, "that I ought to interrogate you as minutely as I did Glorfindel, but, truth be told, I am too tired to make a good job of it." Abruptly, the wizard arose and went to his bed, flinging himself face-down upon it without even bothering to pull off his boots. Legolas hesitated for a minute, then stole toward the bed, meaning to perform that office for him. As soon as his hand touched Gandalf's boot, however, the Istar spoke up.

"Leave it," he mumbled. "I mean to rest only briefly, for I wish to check on Frodo's well-being momentarily."

"Frodo?"

"Yes. Frodo Baggins, nephew of Bilbo. Now be off with you! I do need sleep, even if only a little. I'm not a Vala, as I am sure you know. My powers extend only so far, as does my endurance."

"Stay well," Legolas murmured softly as he retreated from the room. Perhaps, he thought, tomorrow he would be able to speak at length with the wizard.

Ai! Several days were in fact to pass before Legolas had a chance for private conversation with Gandalf. It was touch and go with Bilbo's nephew for several days, and while the Hobbit hovered betwixt light and dark, the wizard stayed close. Then, as the Perian recovered, Gandalf closeted himself with Elrond, Glorfindel, Erestor, and Galdor, the latter having arrived with a message from Círdan of the Grey Havens. Next, a party of Dwarves arrived, and, to Legolas' dismay, Gandalf gave lengthy audience to their leader. Then there was the feast, of course, the celebration of the Perian's recovery, but that was a very public event. Anyway, Gandalf was seated beside Elrond upon the dais, and Legolas, although seated in honor, was this night not at the head table. Nor was he able to approach the wizard when the company adjourned to the Hall of Fire, for many of the elder Elves clustered around him. So the Elf had to 'hang fire' for several days in an agony of doubt as to Gandalf's feelings. Moreover, he had another source of dread. He knew he would have to publicly rehearse the tale of Gollum's escape at the Council of Elrond, which would be called as soon as it became known that Bilbo's nephew would be up to attending it.

Legolas would have sought out Aragorn during this time of dreadful anticipation, but the Dúnadan more often than not was to be found walking with Arwen. This vexed Legolas on two accounts. First, it deprived him of the Ranger's company. Second, for their perambulations, the couple preferred the very spots that Legolas found most enticing. Again and again, Legolas would seek solace in one glade or another, only to find Aragorn and Arwen standing together in its midst, leaning in toward one another, their fingers intertwined, staring into each other's eyes and murmuring soft words. Miffed, Legolas would have to creep away. Perhaps, he decided after several days of this, attendance at the Council would not be such a dreadful thing after all. In any event, it couldn't be put off much longer. Legolas several times had seen Bilbo's nephew walking about with the other Hobbits, and he was not surprised when one day the bell rang to signal that the emissaries and their hosts were to assemble before the Lord of Imladris. Legolas hastened to join the company, surprising himself by finding that he was in fact eager to do so. His enthusiasm waned a little, however, when he found that the Dwarves had plunked themselves down next to the Mirkwood Elves. Carefully ignoring them, Legolas took his seat with the greatest of dignity. As per his father's orders, he was dressed in a long, flowing robe. (He had, however, drawn the line at the silver diadem his father would have had him wear.)

As other folk arrived and took their seats, Legolas looked over his fellows—still carefully ignoring the Dwarves, of course. He had at least a passing acquaintance with nearly all of the Elves, so he paid most attention to the Men. One he had never seen before. He studied him and decided that he was most assuredly not a Ranger. His elegant yet travel-worn clothes were those of a foreigner, a Man of the South. Legolas had heard that an emissary from the far off realm of Gondor had but lately arrived. His name was Boromir, he had been told, and he was the son of the Steward who dwelled in Minas Tirith, the chief city of that land. This must be he, Legolas decided. He was a well-built man, muscular like Aragorn and only a little shorter. He carried himself with confidence. Yet he had a wary look about him, as if he did not altogether trust the company he found himself in. Legolas could have understood this attitude if had applied only to the Naugrim, but the Man cast sideways glances at the Elves, too. Legolas looked over at Aragorn to see what the Dúnadan made of the stranger. Aragorn glanced fleetingly at the Southerner and then withdrew his eyes. As for the Southerner, his eyes flicked over Aragorn as if he were of no import, coming to rest instead upon Elrond, who waited patiently for all to take their seats.

The company having settled into place, all joined Boromir in looking expectantly toward Elrond, who assumed his most magisterial air. Rising, he began to declaim.

"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old: You have been summoned here to answer the threat of _Mordor_."

Everyone felt a chill as Elrond pronounced that word, as if judgment had just been passed upon each and every one of them. Elrond continued solemnly.

"Middle-earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite, or You. Will. Fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom."

Elrond paused. Legolas exhaled, not realizing until then that he had been holding his breath. But he was to catch himself holding his breath many times before the conclusion of that Council. All the news was distressing, so much so that Legolas found himself moved to concern even on the behalf the Dwarves. At the news of Saruman's betrayal of Gandalf, however, he felt fury rather than concern. To treat a wise and honorable Maia in such a perfidious manner, and after masquerading for so many years as his friend—such treachery could never be forgiven!

So portentous were the tidings from the many lands that Legolas almost forgot his own errand, but Aragorn had not forgotten, and he reminded the Elf of his duty by dissembling a little, speaking as if he knew nothing of Gollum's escape. For one thing, Aragorn did not know how matters stood between Legolas and Gandalf, for Ranger and Elf had not talked since their reunion that first night. He thus hesitated to let on that he heard anything of Gollum's escape lest the wizard be angered at having been left in the dark. So he spoke disingenuously when Boromir asked of Gollum's fate. The tips of Legolas' ears flushed as the Dúnadan explained that the creature had been left in the care of the Mirkwood Elves.

"Alas! alas!" Legolas cried. "The tidings that I was sent to bring must now be told. They are not good, but only here have I learned how evil they may seem to this company. Sméagol, who is now called Gollum, has escaped."

Continuing to play his part, Aragorn bade Legolas tell the story in full, which he did so without any interruption save for one. The Dwarf Glóin became indignant as he listened to Legolas describe the kindness that the Elves had shown to Gollum.

"You were less tender to me," he complained, his eyes flashing in anger at the memories of the days that he had spent in Thranduil's dungeons. Legolas opened his mouth to give a testy reply, but Gandalf shot him a hard look and he held his tongue. The wizard then turned his attention to soothing the Dwarf's feelings.

"Now come!" said Gandalf. "Pray do not interrupt, my good Glóin. That was a regrettable misunderstanding, long set right. If all the grievances that stand between Elves and Dwarves are to be brought up here, we may as well abandon this Council."

Legolas had to grudgingly admit to himself that Glóin responded to this appeal with tact and restraint. He arose and bowed politely and resumed his seat, allowing Legolas to proceed. The Elf noticed, however, that a younger Dwarf seated by Glóin was not so gracious. This Dwarf glared at Legolas and gripped the haft of the large axe that leaned against his chair.

When Legolas had finished his tale, he looked anxiously at Gandalf. Perhaps now he would learn the wizard's feelings on this matter. Legolas observed how Gandalf kept his countenance, but perhaps his counsel as well. Calmly he spoke, as if unperturbed by the news.

"Well, well, he is gone," the wizard said. "We have no time to seek for him again. He must do what he will. But," he added, "he may play a part yet that neither he nor Sauron have foreseen."

Gandalf at his enigmatic best, thought Legolas wryly as the wizard uttered that final sentence. But, the Elf wondered, had the Istar revealed his true sentiments, or did he assume an air of calmness lest he arouse doubts and fears amongst the councilors, emotions that might cloud their judgment and paralyze their will? Legolas knew that he would never be certain of Gandalf's feelings until he had an opportunity to speak with him privately. He tried to push the matter aside so that he might better attend to the deliberations of the Council.

Oddly, throughout all these deliberations the one object that was at the center of all thoughts and speeches had remained hidden. At last Elrond addressed Bilbo's nephew. Gravely he spoke.

"Bring forth the Ring, Frodo."

Legolas forgot his own recent discomfort as he saw the young Hobbit reluctantly draw forth a small, golden ring and advance to place it upon a plinth in the center of the assembly. So this tiny object was what Gandalf had been hiding in the Shire all those years, the Elf thought to himself. He was gazing at it, incredulous, when he realized that the like emotion was shared by many. The Man of Gondor spoke, his voice filled with wonder.

"So it is true," he murmured. Slowly he arose, and slowly he began to move toward the Ring, as if drawn to it.

"In a dream," he said softly, almost as if speaking to himself, "I saw the eastern sky grow dark. But in the west a pale light lingered, and a voice was crying, 'Doom is near at hand, Isildur's bane is found'. Isildur's bane," he repeated. Elrond and Gandalf watched uneasily as the Man gazed ever more fixedly upon the fiery object, his awe and amazement replaced by eagerness and greed. The Man reached out his hand as if he would take the Ring.

"Boromir!" cried Elrond. Boromir started, as if awoken from a trance. Gandalf was on his feet now as well, and he began to speak in a strange, uncouth tongue. As he did, it was as if all warmth and light had departed from the earth.

"Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul," chanted Gandalf in a voice not his own. "Ash nazg thrakatulûk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!"

Pain and nausea swept over Legolas, and he flinched.

Bewildered and dazed, Boromir backed up toward his seat, almost falling into it as his legs struck its edge. The voice ceased, and warmth and sunlight began to filter back into the world. Legolas felt his nausea recede, but his head still throbbed. Elrond, who himself had recoiled from the hideousness of the words, found his voice, although it sounded thick as he began to speak, as if he had to force the sounds out.

"Never before," he said grimly, "has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here, in Imladris.

Gandalf, too, spoke with an effort. "I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond," he rasped, as if he had no breath left in his body. "For the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West. The Ring is altogether evil."

Boromir had begun to recover from his confusion. He shook his head at Gandalf's words and again eyed the Ring greedily.

"But it is a gift," he exclaimed. "A gift to the foes of Mordor! Why not use this ring?"

Boromir once again rose to his feet and began to pace, keeping his eyes upon the Ring all the while as he spoke urgently.  
"Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are _your_ lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the Enemy. Let us use it against him!"

As he listened to Boromir's eager words, Legolas glanced quickly at Gandalf. He could see that the Man's speech was not to the wizard's liking, and he caught the look that Gandalf exchanged with Elrond. Aragorn, too, was troubled. Thus far he had said nothing. Now he addressed himself to Boromir.

"You cannot wield it!" he warned the Man of Gondor. "None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master."

Boromir turned and looked disdainfully upon the Ranger. The Dúnadan's garb was good, but simpler than the garments worn by the Man of the South. Boromir dismissed his words as being of no importance. "And what would a Ranger know of this matter?" he asked derisively.

Aragorn never spoke of his heritage—indeed, for the sake of safety he had been trained not to—and Legolas saw that he would not do so now. Angered on behalf of his friend, he leaped to his feet. "This is no mere Ranger," he said, perhaps more sharply than he intended. "He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

Boromir looked again upon Aragorn, his derision replaced by disbelief.

"Aragorn?" he said, his doubt plain to be seen. "_This_ is Isildur's heir?"

"And heir to the throne of Gondor," Legolas shot back, his voice challenging.

"Havo dad, Legolas," Aragorn said quietly. "Sit down, Legolas."

Legolas complied with the wishes of his friend. Boromir, too, resumed his seat, but not before saying, "Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king." The latter words he all but spat.

Gandalf ignored the exchange between the two Men. "Aragorn is right," he said. "We cannot use it." With that, Elrond rose to his feet. The moment of crisis was at hand. "You have only one choice," he intoned. "The Ring must be destroyed."

For a moment, all sat in silence. Then Legolas noticed some movement amongst the Dwarves. The angry younger Dwarf had sprung to his feet and brandished his axe. "Then what are we waiting for?" he growled. 'No doubt', Legolas thought derisively, 'Dwarves pattern their behavior upon the needs of the forge, where one must _strike while the iron is hot_'. The Dwarf strode toward the plinth, raised his axe high above his head, and brought it down upon the Ring with a power that was impressive even to Legolas. The sound of splintering metal rang out, but it was the Dwarf's axe that had shattered. The Ring sat serene upon the plinth, its surface unmarred. It seemed to Legolas that undamaged Ring glowed as if it were afire, and that from its center came a hollow laugh that echoed in the air even after all had fallen still.

Elrond spoke.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli son of Glóin, by any craft that we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you must do this."

All fell silent in their contemplation of the Ring—all save Boromir, who shook his head in disgust and disbelief. When he spoke, his impatience and anger were barely contained.

"One does not simply walk into Mordor," he protested. "Its black gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep, and the Great Eye is ever-watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly!"

Legolas leaped to his feet. He had decided that this Man of the South, who insulted Aragorn and challenged the wisdom of Elrond, was only a little preferable to a Dwarf.

"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?" he asked heatedly. "The Ring must be destroyed!"

The angry young Dwarf—Gimli, Elrond had said his name was—was now on his feet as well.

"And I suppose you think _you're_ the one to do it," he challenged Legolas.

Boromir spoke over the head of the Dwarf.

"And if we fail," he shouted, "what then?"

"I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an Elf!" roared the Dwarf.

"What happens when Sauron takes back what his?" bellowed Boromir.

All—Man, Elf, and Dwarf—were on their feet by now. Legolas had to master not only his own temper but those of his compatriots, and he flung out his arm to hold back the Elves who would have advanced on the shouting throng of Men and Dwarves. Gimli's voice arose above all others.

"No one trusts an Elf!" he was swearing.

It seemed to Legolas that the Council must end in confusion and wrath, but a voice there was that was more piercing than the Dwarf's. It was not louder, no, but in its urgency it rivaled the power of the words uttered in anger.

"I will take the Ring."

Only a few heard it the first time, but those few fell silent in astonishment.

"I will take the Ring" came the voice once more. Man, Elf, and Dwarf, all turned toward the small voice.

"I will take the Ring," repeated the voice. The soft words were spoken by a person no bigger than the voice.

"I will take the Ring," said Frodo, Bilbo's nephew. "Though," he added humbly, "I do not know the way."

Legolas looked toward Gandalf, and this time he had no doubt as to the wizard's emotion—emotions, rather, for on his face were mingled relief and sorrow. Relief, for both he and Elrond had believed that this task had been ordained for the small one; sorrow, because Gandalf well knew what was being asked of the Hobbit and what the consequences might be. The wizard stepped forward and addressed the Perian.

"I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear."

Aragorn came forward no less swiftly.

"If, by my life or death, I can protect you, I will." He knelt. "You have my sword."

Legolas stepped forth to stand by his friend.

"And you have my bow!" he declared.

The Dwarf was not to be outdone. He stumped forward.

"And my axe!" he growled. He looked defiance at Legolas. The Elf looked away, pretending not to notice.

Now Boromir came forward. His manner was grim but determined.

"You carry the fate of us all, little one," he said gravely. "If this is indeed the will of the council, then Gondor will see it done."

The Council was very nearly at an end, and the outcome was as Gandalf had hoped. Agreement that the Ring must be destroyed, and an alliance in little of Free Peoples, an alliance that Gandalf hoped would be mirrored in the world at large. As for Legolas, in spite of the gravity of the task before them, the Elf's spirits rose apace, for it seemed to him that he now had a way to make at least partial amends for Gollum's escape from Mirkwood. The Elf watched with amusement as Elrond struggled with his eyebrows after one of the Hobbits, Samwise Gamgee, suddenly materialized from the shrubbery and demanded that he be allowed to accompany his master. "You shall go with him," Elrond promised, a slight smile upon his face. "It is hardly possible to separate you from him, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not!" So light-hearted was Legolas that he would have laughed had the occasion permitted it.

The Elf was not so light-hearted, however, that he had given over his intention of having a private conversation with Gandalf. He wanted to be certain that Gandalf bore no ill will toward the Mirkwood realm. To his delight, after dinner Gandalf stated his intention of going to his chamber straightaway. "No frolicking in the Hall of Fire for me," he declared, declining Bilbo's offer to regale him with a poem he had lately translated from Quenya. Legolas hastened on ahead, and when Gandalf reached the door to his chamber, there stood the young Elf.

"To what do I owe the honor of this visit," Gandalf said solemnly, but the glitter in his eyes bespoke amusement. Legolas nevertheless spoke with great formality.

"Mithrandir, we have not had an opportunity to talk further about the escape of the creature whom you entrusted to the safekeeping of my kinsmen."

"Oh, are you still worrying about _that_?" Gandalf chortled. He put his hand upon the shoulder of the young Elf.

"Legolas, neither you nor any of your kin could be blamed for Gollum's escape."

"You are not angry?"

Gandalf smiled and looked very much like the selfsame wizard who long ago had befriended a little elfling prince. Legolas saw now that, while it was true that his face had become more lined over the centuries, the kindness in his eyes was unchanged.

"Tut! tut! Legolas! To think that I would waste my anger upon my friends! You know very well that I am not so profligate with my wrath."

"You have not always hoarded it so carefully," teased Legolas. "Do you remember the time you swatted me—aye, and Elrohir and Elladan, too—because Elrohir had meddled with your magic?"

Gandalf was unperturbed.

"That was an example of my forbearance rather than of my wrath,' he replied with equanimity. "Given the provocation, I would have been justified in turning the lot of you into blocks of wood, a fate that would have been in keeping with the intelligence you displayed. Instead, I merely gave each of you one sharp blow upon the palm. You would not have met such restraint at the hands of Saruman!"

Legolas shivered. He remembered the times he had come close to falling into the clutches of the Lord of Isengard. He knew that his fate would have been very different if it had been Saruman rather than Gandalf who had found him in the woods near Rivendell. 'By now', Legolas thought to himself, 'I would be more Orc than Elf if Saruman had gotten his claws into me'. Again he shivered. Gandalf looked upon him with understanding.

"Ah," the wizard said shrewdly, "you are remembering the times that Saruman has sought to welcome you into his circle."

"Either that or slay me," retorted Legolas. For when Saruman was thwarted, his thoughts had turned to murder. One time the turncoat wizard had very nearly succeeded, when his machinations had resulted in a young Legolas being thrown into the icy waters of the Isen.

Conversation between Istar and Elf was interrupted when Aragorn knocked upon the door. Gandalf waved him to a seat and offered him a goblet of wine. Aragorn politely declined.

"My head is all in a whirl, Gandalf. Should I quaff that beverage, I am sure I should be utterly incapable of sensible thought."

"In a whirl, eh? I should have expected a more sober response on your part. You do know that you are leading a company south, toward the realm of the Dark Lord?"

Aragorn gave Gandalf an odd look.

"_I_ am leading the Company? Gandalf, I thought—"

"Yes, yes," Gandalf said hastily. "Of course. I am the oldest and wisest of the Company. I will be its titular head, to be sure. But, Estel, you must know what is at stake. The destruction of the device of the Enemy is but the prelude to the restoration of the estate of Man. And you, Estel—"

"Aragorn," interrupted the individual in question.

"Aragorn, yes, but I want you to remember that you are Estel just the same," Gandalf said patiently. And it anything should happen to me—"

"Nothing will happen to you," Legolas interjected quickly. "Nothing _could_ happen to you."

Gandalf paused and looked sideways at Legolas.

"Nothing, eh? I wish nothing _would_ happen to me." He returned his attention to Aragorn.

"Whatever my fate may be, it is you, Aragorn, whoare heir to the throne of Gondor. It is not my task to lead Men—no, and it never was. So you had better get used to the fact that you are no 'mere Ranger', as some would prefer to believe. Moreover," continued the wizard, adopting a more light-hearted tone, "you ought not to forget that more than the crown of Gondor is at stake. Permit me to whisper the name 'Arwen' into your ear."

Aragorn's hand at once went to his throat, and Legolas knew that the Man clutched at the pendant that lay hidden beneath his tunic, a jewel gifted to him by the daughter of Elrond. After a moment he dropped his hand and absent-mindedly laid hold of the hilt of his sword. "I will think upon what you have said," he murmured with a distracted air. He arose, inclined his head slightly, and strode from the room. Gandalf smiled fondly at his retreating figure.

"He has been preparing for this moment all his life, Legolas. He is excited and eager, but fearful, too. At the Council, much was made of the burden that Frodo must carry, but Aragorn, too, bears a heavy burden. I can rely upon you to help him carry it, can't I, my lad?"

"I am surprised you find it necessary to ask, Mithrandir. You know I would do my utmost to aid either of you."

"Good," said Gandalf briskly. "You will start by being agreeable to the Dwarf—well, more agreeable, anyway," the wizard added hastily at the sight of Legolas' face. "Need you be so obvious about your dislike for him and your distrust of Dwarves in general?"

"I will try to be more subtle, Mithrandir," Legolas muttered. 'But the Dwarf makes it difficult', he added to himself.

"I would also be glad," the wizard continued, "if you would call me Gandalf. The Hobbits and the Dwarf have always known me by that name, and Aragorn now prefers to address me by it as well. As much as possible, we ought to all speak alike. Doing so may help bind us into a Fellowship—and it is necessary that we be a Fellowship, regardless of any differences that may have divided us in the past."

Gandalf gave Legolas a sharp look, and the young Elf felt the tips of his ears grow warm. Not for the first time, he wondered whether the wizard shared distant kinship with Galadriel. Both had the unnerving habit of divining his thoughts, no matter how carefully he cloaked them.

"If you wish to be called Gandalf, then that is how I shall address you," the young Elf said a little stiffly, "although I don't see why. Mithrandir is a perfectly good name."

"Aye, and so is Gandalf," retorted the same. "Better, really, for it only wastes two syllables instead of the three. For we shall want to save our breath to cool our porridge, my lad—at least as long as we have the luck to enjoy a bowl. I expect before the end we shall have to break fast on many a less delightful dish. Speaking of dishes, I am hungry again. See if the Cook would give us something to eat, that's a good lad."

"You have become very nearly a Halfling," Legolas teased him, "always thinking of your next meal."

"And in the days to come," Gandalf retorted, "it may behoove you to get into the habit of doing likewise. Meals may become an irregular occurrence before you have seen the end of this little adventure."

Later that evening, after sharing a second dinner with Gandalf, Legolas strolled back to the chamber he shared with Tathar. He burst into the room reciting poetry, and he leaned out the window serenading every maiden who passed by. For weeks Tathar had fretted over the gloominess of the Prince; now he feared that he had given way to excessive levity. Tathar had already heard the news that Legolas would be a part of the Fellowship. "Your father," he warned, "is going to be very angry."

"I know," Legolas replied cheerfully. "But," he added with a grin, "I won't let _that_ affect me!"


	2. Chapter 2: A Fetching Elf

**Thanks to the following for their reviews and encouragement: _Fluffy's__ fangirls, Grumpy, Dragonfly, Amy, K'lare, _and_ Joee. _I am so glad to be back on the web. I had a wonderful vacation that actually ended several weeks ago, but I have been so busy with the start of school that I didn't have a chance to write at all! Sniff.**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly._**  
**Chapter 2: A Fetching Elf**

From Gandalf's window, Legolas watched Arwen and Aragorn walking upon the greensward. He smiled and turned toward the wizard.

"Mithrandir, do you remember that upon a time my father desired that I should espouse Arwen?"

The wizard did not look up from the map he was studying.

"It's _Gandalf_, and, yes, I do recall that unfortunate episode. I may look old, Laiqua, but my memory is intact."

"Why may you call me 'Laiqua'," protested Legolas, 'when I may not call you Mithrandir?"

"Privilege of age," Gandalf replied cheerfully.

"You want to have it both ways," grumbled Legolas, "to be treated as agéd and yet not so." To himself, he wondered again how old Gandalf really was. When Legolas had first encountered the wizard in the woods of Imladris, he had been an elfling, and Gandalf had already taken on the guise of an old Man. Instinctively, Legolas had deferred to him, and had continued to do so, but the Elf wondered whether, in actual years, he might actually be the older.

'But it doesn't matter', Legolas thought to himself. 'Mithrandir—Gandalf—he will always be in some way older than I. His spirit, at least, is ageless, and I suspect it far antedates my own. Whether he took bodily form before or after I did, he is older'.

"Gandalf," he said aloud, "Elrond has said that he will allow Arwen to wed no mortal unless it be the King of the restored Kingdom of the West. But even if we succeed in destroying the Ring, there may be obstacles that stand between Aragorn and the throne in Minas Tirith."

Gandalf looked up and studied the Elf's face keenly.

"Obstacles, eh? What makes you say that, my lad?"

Legolas wished he hadn't spoken so boldly.

"Oh," he said, going to his bow and picking it up as if he had suddenly remembered an errand, "Orcs, Southrons, Easterlings, _you_ know."

"I don't, and put that bow down. Now speak your mind."

"I imagine you already _know_ my mind," retorted Legolas. "You and Galadriel are much akin in that respect."

"Nevertheless, I should like to hear your opinion directly. What obstacles does Aragorn face in addition to the more obvious ones?"

Legolas decided he had best be blunt.

"Boromir."

"Boromir pledged at the Council to do what he could to aid the Ring-bearer."

"Yes, but he did not pledge at the Council to do what he could to help Aragorn regain the throne of the West."

"He was not asked to, but do you have reason to believe that he would refuse if he _were_ asked?"

"No-oo."

"Well, then!"

"But, Gandalf, Boromir is, is—Boromir is a Man!"

"And so is Aragorn. Do you doubt Aragorn for that reason?"

"They are both Men, yes, but Aragorn is—different. He is descended from the Eldar as well as the Edain."

"I think," Gandalf said severely, "that you are allowing your prejudices to get in the way of your judgment. I know you think Elves are superior to Dwarves, but I had not thought your bias extended to Men. Next you will be saying that you don't trust _me_."

"You are not a Man!"

"My pardon, but Edwen Nana would not agree with you there."

Legolas was about to fling back a reply when he saw that Gandalf was winking. He returned to the topic at hand.

"I have not explained myself clearly, Gandalf. It is not that Boromir is a Man; it is the _kind_ of Man he is. For Men are not all alike."

"True, but neither are Elves, so let us not make Boromir's race the issue."

"Very well. Gandalf, Boromir seems so very—eager."

"And is eagerness a flaw?"

"It depends upon the object of the eagerness."

"Ah. And what is the object of Boromir's eagerness?"

"I am not sure," Legolas said slowly, "but I suspect that mastery matters to him, more than it matters to Aragorn."

"You think that Aragorn would not care to be King?"

"He does wish to be King, Gandalf, but his reasons for desiring that power are very different from any reasons Boromir would have were he in his place. Boromir, I think, would mean well. He is an honorable Man, who would wish to rule with benevolence and wisdom—at least that would be his intention at the outset. But he has a desire for the power to Command, for he deems that such is the path that must be followed for one who would be glorious in the eyes of Men."

Gandalf arose and walked to the window. He could see where Aragorn and Arwen had gone to stand by the statue of Gil-galad. Gil-galad! The elven lord who had fallen in the Battle of the Last Alliance. In that same battle had been slain King Elendil, ancestor of Aragorn. It was the Dark Lord himself who had broken the King's body, leaving him crumpled before the fortress of Barad-dûr . But in requital Isildur, Elendil's son, had cut the Ring from Sauron's finger. Ai! Then it was that Isildur had been the eager one. He had kept the Ring for his own, insisting that he took it as wergild for his father. But Gandalf suspected that Isildur had heard the voice of the Ring—heard it and been susceptible to its blandishments. Power! Command! Glory! These were what the Ring had offered Isildur, and these he had found tempting. But these enticements mattered not to Aragorn. Legolas was right. Aragorn had inherited Isildur's courage, but not his eagerness to stand high above all others. Aragorn was proof against the Ring. But Boromir, yes, Boromir would bear watching.

Legolas came to stand at the window beside the wizard.

"There is one other matter, Gandalf. In demeanor and speech, Boromir could be called forthright and bold, but he could equally be said to be reckless. Courage must be tempered with judgment. Are you sure that this Man will not inadvertently betray us through a hasty word or deed?"

"I am _not_ sure," Gandalf replied acerbically. "No one could be sure of that sort of thing. Indeed, I cannot be certain that _you_ won't inadvertently betray us."

"I would never!" Legolas exclaimed indignantly.

"I did say 'inadvertently', Legolas. Of course you would never intentionally betray us, but you cannot predict the outcome of your own actions. A decision to take one path and not another, and you may lead us straight into a nest of Orcs. Without ever meaning to, of course," the wizard reiterated as he saw Legolas opening his mouth to protest.

"Legolas," the wizard continued, "be sure that I shall hold your words in my heart. But a Fellowship has come into being, and, for good or for ill, the success of our endeavor must rest upon the shoulders of its members. We must guard one another and pray that the time does not come when we must guard against one another. My answer may not be to your liking, but it is the only answer I can give. Now do me a kindness and ask Gimli to attend me. There are some details of his story that I would like to go over with him one more time."

Gandalf turned back to the window before Legolas had a chance to reply, but the wizard knew even without seeing that the Elf was wrinkling his nose in dismay.

'Stubborn Elf', he laughed to himself. 'He's just as thick-necked as the Dwarves he despises so. Well, good! He'll discover before the end that he has something in common with Gimli son of Glóin'.

Gandalf heard the door bang shut behind Legolas, and the wizard laughed at the thought of an elegant Elf venting his anger in such a graceless manner.

'So I am to be errand runner to a Dwarf', thought Legolas to as he stomped toward Gimli's quarters in a fashion that, truth be told, was more than a little dwarf-like. However, by the time he arrived at the Dwarf's chamber, he had recovered his equanimity. Politely he knocked upon the door.

"Enter," bellowed Gimli. Legolas did so, and saw that the Dwarf, seated cross-legged upon the bed, was braiding his beard.

'Barbaric custom', the Elf thought smugly, without giving a moment's thought to the braids that adorned his own hair. Aloud he said, "Master Dwarf, Master Gandalf begs your presence in his chamber."

"Does he?" replied Gimli. "How kind of you to let me know, _Prince_ Legolas."

Legolas kept his countenance but wondered how it was that the word 'Prince' could be made to sound such an insult in the mouth of a Dwarf. 'If I am a Prince', he thought indignantly, 'what of it!' Fuming, he accompanied Gimli back to Gandalf's room, struggling hard to match his long steps to the shorter ones of the Dwarf, who, it seemed to Legolas, moved with all the deliberateness of a turtle.

"Ah, Gimli, my friend," cried Gandalf when the odd couple had arrived at the wizard's chamber, "thank you for honoring my request. And thank you for fetching him," he added to Legolas.

'Fetching him!' thought Legolas indignantly. 'Fetching him! Am I your servant, then?' He turned to leave the chamber, but Gandalf stayed him.

"Nay, Legolas. You must remain. What Gimli has to say may be of interest to you as well as me."

'I doubt it', thought Legolas, but he would not be seen to challenge the wizard's judgment. He made as if to take a seat.

"Half a minute," cried Gandalf. "Could I trouble you to pour Gimli a glass of wine?"

"If it's all the same," said Gimli, "I'd rather have a beer, a good stout one, mind you."

"It just so happens," said Gandalf, "that Elrond keeps a keg on tap for various of the Men who visit from time to time. Legolas, be a good fellow and fetch a tankard."

Gandalf smiled innocently at Legolas, and it is much to the Elf's credit that he did not protest at the wizard's having again used the word 'fetch'. Instead, he obediently departed the room. 'I know what you are about, Gandalf', he said to himself as he descended the steps to the wine cellar. 'It is plain that you mean to lesson me in the need for humility. Very well. If you wish me to be humble, then humble I shall be. It shall not be said that Legolas Thranduilion is not up to any task set him by Gandalf the Grey'.

In the cellar, Legolas drew not one but two steins of beer before returning to Gandalf's chamber.

"Master Dwarf," he called as he entered the room, "here is a tankard of beer, and one extra lest Gandalf talk you dry."

Both Gandalf and Gimli looked surprised. Legolas remained standing after placing the tankards upon the table.

"Is there anything else you might be wanting, Master Dwarf? I shall be happy to _fetch_ you anything you need. Cheese, perhaps, and bread? Or would you like an apple?"

"Salted pork?" asked Gimli hopefully.

"We haven't any salted pork, Master Dwarf, but we _do_ have salted fish. I would be ever so glad to _fetch_ you some."

Gandalf was gazing at Legolas through narrowed eyes.

"It is only a little while until dinner, Legolas. The beer will suffice, won't it, Gimli?"

"I suppose it will," Gimli conceded reluctantly, "if, as you say, it is not long until the evening meal."

"Indeed it is not. Sit down, Legolas."

"But, Gandalf—"

"Havo dad, Legolas!"

Careful not to smirk, Legolas sat down and counterfeited a great interest in the tale that Gimli resumed telling.

"Perhaps it has become difficult for Balin to send word to King Dain," the Dwarf was saying. "It may be that he can no longer spare any Dwarves as messengers. Or it may be that messages have gone astray in the vastness between Moria and Erebor."

"Or it may be," Gandalf pointed out, "that an ill fate has befallen Balin and his companions."

"Nay, Gandalf! Balin is a stout Dwarf, as are his companions."

"Time was when the stoutness of Dwarves was no match for the evil that had arisen in Moria."

"But that was long ago," argued Gimli.

"Some evil is ageless, my friend," Gandalf replied.

A bell sounded then. Gimli's face brightened.

"Dinner!" exclaimed the Dwarf, who had been visiting in Rivendell long enough to have learned to recognize several chimes, especially those pertaining to meals.

Gimli and Legolas both arose from their chairs, but Gandalf remained seated.

"You two go on ahead," he said, "for I wish to spend a little more time perusing this map."

Legolas had hoped that at the dinner table he would be able to put Gandalf between himself and Gimli, but now he knew that that would be impossible. He would enter the Dining Hall by the side of the Dwarf, and he would probably have to sit by him as well, as it would be noticed if Gimli went in one direction and Legolas another. Behind Gimli's back, the Elf glared at the wizard, who once again assumed an expression of utmost innocence.

'I will pay you back, Gandalf', Legolas vowed to himself before following Gimli from the room. "Oh, yes, Gandalf, be sure that I will!"

For now, however, he had no choice but to stroll by the side of the Dwarf, curbing both his impatience and his steps. Perhaps, he thought hopefully, another member of the Fellowship would join them before they reached the Dining Hall, in which case he might try to maneuver the newcomer between himself and the Dwarf. Ai! All the companions save Gandalf had preceded them into the hall. Three adjacent seats stood empty at the table set aside for the Fellowship. Legolas had a sudden flash of inspiration. As they reached the table, he said aloud, "Master Dwarf, Gandalf, being Maia and not mortal, is higher in dignity of any other of the Fellowship. It is fitting, therefore, that this seat in the center be reserved for him."

"Far be it from me to quarrel over a seat," replied the Dwarf. "I don't mind sitting to one side if that's what you mean to do as well."

"Yes, it would be an ill start to our Fellowship if you and I were to disagree over such a trifle."

Each went to either side, and each was well satisfied with the arrangement. For the Dwarf was as anxious to escape the Elf as the Elf was desirous of avoiding the Dwarf. "I hope you know what you have gotten yourself into," Gimli's father Gloin had fretted the night before the older Dwarf had set out to return to the Lonely Mountain. "'Tis a difficult task lies before you—an impossible task I would say didna I have more respect for Gandalf's opinions on the matter." Gloin shuddered at the thought of what lay before his son. "The Horror!" moaned Gloin, "the horror!"

"I know, Da," Gimli said gloomily. "I consider meself to be a doughty Dwarf, but I've lost some sleep over this one. But I'll guard meself as best I can."

"You see that you do, Son. If only you were up against a less fearsome creature. Truth be told, I'd druther see you face a dragon."

"Yes, for at least you know where you stand with a dragon. Now these creatures, who knows what they're thinkin' neath those smooth faces o' theirs."

Both Dwarves sat for awhile gloomily contemplating the perfidy of Elves and bemoaning the fact that for an untold number of months Gimli would be cast into the company of one. At last Gloin roused himself.

"Son, you be sure an' keep yer distance as much as you can."

Gimli assured his father that he would.

"Won't come within arm's length of 'im if I can help it, Da."

So it was that Gimli was pleased to have a chair standing between himself and the smooth-faced Elf. As for his own face, he gloated over its hirsute, dwarfly glory. Legolas, meanwhile, was similarly congratulating himself on his success at evading the Dwarf. As for his smooth face, he reveled in it. So Elf and Dwarf each possessed a surfeit of smugness as they awaited Gandalf's arrival.

In due course, the wizard entered the room and to his displeasure saw that Elf and Dwarf were no closer than before, save for the smugness they shared in common. He gave Legolas a hard look, and it was now the Elf's turn to smile innocently.

'Curséd thick-headedness of both races', the wizard muttered to himself. 'If _only_ they knew how much alike they truly are. Ah, well, even if they won't be friends, they will be allies, for they are both honorable. Each has pledged himself to the Fellowship, and each will be true. Still, it would be pleasanter all around if they did not dislike each other so'.

Gandalf now turned his attention to the food, which was excellent, of course, for Elrond always set a good table. As he ate, he caught snatches of conversation. Gimli, on his one side, was itemizing, for the benefit of Pippin and Merry, the Orc necks he had hewn.

"Excuse me, Master Dwarf," Pippin asked politely, "but however do you reach?"

"Nothing easier, m'lad. First I cut 'em off at the knees. They drops down, and then it's a simple matter to detach heads from shoulders."

Gandalf both smiled at Gimli's boasts and felt wistfulness at the Halflings' innocent awe. 'Their awe may last a bit longer, but not their innocence,' he mused. 'As for Gimli, if his exploits have hitherto been more blustery than bloody, events will soon remedy that, I fear'.

From the other side, Gandalf overheard Legolas trying to draw out Boromir. Like Gimli, Boromir needed little encouragement to speak of his own exploits, but the Man's purposes in doing so were vastly different from those of the Dwarf. Gimli was a storyteller. Even if he was the main character of his own narratives, his purpose in telling his tales was to entertain his listeners. There was an unselfishness about Gimli that was almost childlike. Boromir, however, recounted his exploits not to entertain but to impress.

"Yes," he was saying to Legolas, "it is true that the forces of Gondor have but lately retaken Osgiliath from Sauron's hordes. I can easily satisfy your curiosity about that campaign, for my father entrusted me with its leadership."

The Man launched into a lengthy account of the battle, in which he returned again and again to his own part in it. Listening to him, Gandalf grew more and more uneasy. He compared Boromir's demeanor and words with those of Aragorn. Whenever the Ranger returned from the Wild, he would seek out Gandalf and report his doings. But the Dúnadan's emphasis was always on the strategic import of his deeds—the bearing they had upon the struggle of all Free Folk against the forces of Evil. He told of his exploits not to draw attention to his courage and prowess but so that they might be taken into account as Elrond and Gandalf considered what was best to be done.

'I wish Denethor had assigned Faramir this errand', fretted Gandalf. 'Indeed, it would have been more fitting, for Faramir dreamed repeatedly of the coming of the Ring, while to Boromir the dream came only once. Surely there was a reason for this!'

Between Faramir and Gandalf there was an understanding. Whenever the wizard had visited Minas Tirith, Boromir had dismissed him as of little interest, for Gandalf had not then worn his sword openly. To Boromir, then, he was naught but an agéd vagabond, weak and therefore pitiable. But Faramir, the younger son of the Steward, perceived the wisdom of Gandalf, and he knew that in wisdom, too, there is power. He spent hours with the wizard, answering his queries about conditions in Gondor, and taking counsel in return. His father, however, disapproved of the time that Faramir passed in Gandalf's company.

"Your brother improves himself upon the training field," Denethor rebuked Faramir, "whilst you while away the hours in a dusty library, in the company of one whose brain is no less filled with cobwebs. When will you show Boromir's zeal and vigor?"

Yet Faramir would not be swayed. Had Denethor been less imperious, he would have realized that this was itself a sign of vigor and zeal. Instead, the Steward grew more and more displeased with Faramir, and he did not trust his younger son when the time came to send a messenger to Imladris. When Boromir begged leave to take the errand upon his own shoulders, Denethor gladly gave permission, for he would have commanded him to go if he had not volunteered.

"I rely upon you to protect our interests, Boromir. You may find answers in Imladris, but do not expect to find allies! Above all, beware of Mithrandir and his machinations. Your first loyalty is to your own people. Do not become the wizard's tool, for his purposes may differ from ours."

And so Boromir had come to Imladris wary and mistrustful, his sole purpose to look to the needs of his own people, without regard to the safety of others. But the Council had not ended as he would have wished, and Boromir had thought it best to join the Fellowship. In that way he could at least be sure of the whereabouts of the Ring. For Boromir had not given over hopes that the Ring could be brought to Minas Tirith to serve in the defense of that City—and to raise the fortunes of his own family, which had begun to decline along with those of the City. Indeed, to raise his own fortunes, although he would have denied that such was his goal.

All this Gandalf perceived as he listened to Boromir brag of the victory at Osgiliath, a victory that Gandalf knew would be a fleeting one. Gandalf caught Legolas' eye, and the wizard nodded slightly. A message passed between Maia and Elda. Yes, Boromir would bear watching.

The dinner at an end, the Company withdrew to the Hall of Fire to enjoy one of the last evenings that they would be able to spend at ease. Aragorn quickly disappeared, and Gandalf knew that he had gone to walk with Arwen in some secluded dale. Then the wizard noticed that Legolas had likewise vanished.

'Probably trying to put some distance between himself and the Dwarf', Gandalf sighed to himself. 'Well, well, as long as they cooperate with each other, that will suffice, I suppose. I reckon that it was too much to hope that they would be friends'.

At length the evening drew on, and the remaining members of the Fellowship withdrew to their respective chambers. When Gandalf arrived at his, he thought he would indulge himself with a smoke before retiring. Absent-mindedly, he packed his pipe, lit it, and drew upon it.

"Paugh!" he gasped, hastily pulling the pipe from his mouth. "What is that taste? And that odor?"

He sniffed the air.

"Mint," he growled. "Someone has mixed mint into my pipe weed."

He heard singing and walked to the window to peer into the garden. There stood Legolas beside the statue of Gil-galad, looking up at the stars and singing.

"I'll warrant I know who meddled with my pipe weed," grumbled Gandalf. "If there were time, I should make him _fetch_ me a barrel from the Shire. But there isn't time. Very well. I shall make him use his excellent elven vision to pick out each and every fragment of mint from my pipe weed. Yes, that shall be his penalty!"

With that, Gandalf retired to his rest, thinking ruefully to himself that not only Boromir but the Elf would 'bear watching'.


	3. Chapter 3: Sorcerer's Apprentice

**Chapter 3: Sorcerer's Apprentice**

**_Alexa:_**** Yes, I will also try to provide Aragorn's perspective from time to time.**

_Grumpy:_ I'm afraid things may not get any easier for Gandalf.

**_Krissy_****_ Wonder:_ Thank you for taking the time to read my stories! I am going to try to sneak in references to earlier stories in this latest one.**

_Melannen__ Amarie:_ I think in Legolas in particular that inner child never fades away.

_Jinkastorm_: Yes, I would think mint would be an improvement, but apparently Gandalf prefers his pipe weed 'neat', so to speak.

_Joee_: In this chapter you will see how Elrond and the others feel about Legolas going on this quest.

Beta Reader: _Dragonfly._ Thank you, _Dragonfly_. I know you have other things to do besides checking stories for me, and I really appreciate your taking the time to do it!

It was the eve of the Fellowship's departure from Rivendell, and Legolas knelt on the floor checking his kit one last time. He would carry very little on his person so that he might swiftly seize his weapons in the event of a sudden assault. As he reached back for an arrow, he did not want to catch his hand on a bundle or bag. But Gandalf had still insisted that the Elf pack a bedroll and a few other such items. "As long as we have Sam's pony," he had said, "I see no reason for you to forgo those few comforts. Bill will carry your gear without complaint." In truth, Bill had flourished since arriving in Rivendell. He was stout, and his coat shiny. Gandalf was right. The pony would not be unduly troubled by the little weight that the Elf's gear would add to his burden.

Legolas heard a heavy footfall in the corridor outside and knew that Gimli was passing by. Gimli, too, was 'packing light'—although only a Dwarf would have thought so. Legolas' weapons—bow and knife—weighed little compared to the weight of the axes that Gimli bore. 'For all he is so short', Legolas said to himself, 'he must be very strong to carry such a heavy burden'.

Legolas had also been forced to notice that Gimli could move quickly when he chose to do so. The Elf had seen Gimli striding in the company of Gandalf and had been surprised to see that the wizard did not need to adjust his steps for the Dwarf to keep up. Apparently Gimli only walked with excruciating slowness when Legolas was in his company, and Legolas assumed that the Dwarf did so in order to aggravate him.

Still, in spite of that assumption, and in spite of his general aversion to the Dwarf, Legolas had to allow himself impressed by both Gimli's strength and his speed. Even after only a few weeks' acquaintance with Gimli, the Elf had to grudgingly admit that the Dwarf, in spite of the weight of his weapons and the shortness of his limbs, would be able to march rapidly and steadily for innumerable leagues without tiring in the least. The Dwarf would not slow down the Company, as Legolas had at first protested to Gandalf. After all, Gimli had already traveled swiftly the long miles from Erebor, burdened then just as he would be burdened now.

Legolas' ruminations upon the Dwarf were interrupted by a vigorous knock upon the door.

"Enter," he called, and Elladan and Elrohir swaggered into the room. Elladan held a quiver full of arrows, and Elrohir carried a leather surcoat.

"Legolas," said Elladan, "this is a very special quiver. He who bears it will never lack for arrows. I want you to have it."

"Thank you, Elladan."

"And this surcoat," said Elrohir, "is supple and light, yet its leather has turned the blades of many foes. I pray that you wear it, Legolas, and not put it aside for a moment."

"Not even to bathe?" asked Legolas lightly.

Elladan and Elrohir had been speaking in formal fashion, but at Legolas' quip they relaxed and smiled.

"You have gone by many names, Legolas," said Elladan, "but I believe 'scamp' has always suited you best."

Another knock was heard upon the door.

"Enter," called Legolas. Now it was Erestor who came into the chamber. He held a pair of light boots in his hands, not much more than shoes, really.

"Legolas, these boots will not be heavy upon your feet, but they are sturdy enough to bear you for many leagues. Over rock or grass or snow, they will let you run with the endurance of the wolf and the lightness of a deer."

Gratefully Legolas accepted them.

Another knock, an exceedingly vigorous one, was heard upon the door, but Glorfindel did not wait to be bidden enter. Always the masterful balrog-slayer, he strode into the room as soon as he had signaled his presence. His gift was small but valuable. He tried to be gruff and businesslike as he presented it, but he fooled no one.

"Legolas," he barked, "at all times you must remember what I have taught you about weapons-lore."

"I won't forget, Glorfindel."

"Be sure that you don't. I wish no pupil of mine to fall short in front of a Man—or a Dwarf!"

"I shall not bring shame upon you, Glorfindel."

"Good. Here!"

Glorfindel thrust at Legolas a small leather pouch. Legolas knew that within was Glorfindel's favorite whetting stone. Innumerable were the times Legolas had seen Glorfindel sharpening a blade upon it. Reverently the younger Elf accepted it for what it was, a token of Glorfindel's respect and affection.

Later that evening, after all were abed, Legolas heard one last knock upon his door, a gentle one.

"Enter," he said quietly. Elrond softly stepped into the room. He came to Legolas' bed and sat upon its edge as he often had when Legolas was an elfling. For a little while he said nothing, silently looking at his hands, which lay folded in his lap. At last he looked up.

"Long ago, Legolas, Thranduil reclaimed you as his own, but in my heart you have never ceased to be my son. You are as dear to me as Elrohir and Elladan, as dear to me as Estel. Only with the greatest of reluctance do I hazard you on this quest."

An Elf is rarely speechless, but Legolas was now. He could not find the words to convey his emotions—pride, gratitude, love. Elrond smiled at him.

"I know what you feel, Legolas. Do not be troubled if you cannot think what to say. It is not necessary that you say anything at all."

Elrond himself said nothing further. He bent down and kissed Legolas upon the brow. Then he arose and went to the door. Looking back, he smiled again before vanishing into the corridor. Behind him, Legolas, who as an elfling had tried his best to never cry, allowed his tears free rein.

The next morning Arwen waylaid him as he stepped from his chamber.

"Legolas, stay well."

"I will, Arwen."

"And do look after Aragorn. After all, you are older than he is."

"Aragorn would object to your saying so, Arwen," Legolas warned her lightheartedly.

"Oh, Aragorn can be so childish sometimes, Legolas!"

"Then why do wish to marry him?" teased the Elf.

"To take care of him," Arwen replied drolly. "Someone has to keep him in clean shirts."

"That is a task that would daunt even Edwen Nana, I think!"

The two laughed merrily until the individual under discussion came round the corner. They both ceased laughing and put on a show of gravity, but they did not fool the Ranger.

"Not very fair of you to indulge yourselves in talking about me behind my back," he grumbled, although he smiled as he spoke. Legolas felt a sudden stab of sadness, for he knew Aragorn would not have many opportunities to smile in the days to come.

After breakfast, Legolas wandered about Rivendell, taking farewell of that place and accepting the good wishes of his numerous friends. He had ample time to do so, for the Company would not set out until dusk, so that their departure might be hidden from any spies. Even though many scouts, Elladan and Elrohir among them, had carefully scoured the lands all about for many leagues, Elrond had counseled them to behave as if they were sure that they were being watched.

"It is fairly certain that the Ringwraiths are unhorsed and shapeless," he had observed, "and no tracks of spies have been found hereabouts, but the scouts have only been able to search the ground. Not all spies go afoot or upon horseback. There are those who creep through the treetops, scrambling from limb to limb. There may be others who soar high above the earth, their keen eyes descrying all that moves upon the face of Arda."

As dusk drew its quilt over Rivendell, a few of Elrond's household assembled in front of the Hall—Elrond had forbidden a large gathering lest it be noticed by unfriendly eyes. Elrohir and Elladan were in attendance, of course, as were Glorfindel and Erestor. Arwen, too, was there, and her manner was no longer lighthearted. Legolas knew what Arwen was thinking: that at best she might not see Aragorn for a long time, and at worst—well, Legolas did not wish to put words to that prospect. He turned away so that Aragorn and Arwen might murmur a few words of farewell one to the other. Then Arwen cast her hood over her head and slipped aside into the shadows. Legolas was certain, though, that from some hidden corner she would watch Aragorn until he could no longer be descried. After Arwen had slipped aside, Aragorn sat upon a step, his head bowed almost to his knees. Anyone who did not know him might have thought him huddled in misery, but Legolas knew that the Ranger had merely drawn within himself for a space.

Gandalf was still within the Hall, closeted with Elrond and gleaning a few last words of counsel from the Peredhil. The December day had been a cool one, and as they waited for the wizard, the sun vanished behind the mountains and it grew cooler still. An ancient Bilbo was shivering as he faithfully kept vigil by the side of his kinsman Frodo.

Legolas smiled as he looked upon Bilbo. He had always found the old Hobbit to be a genial companion even though, on account of his age, he was likely to doze off in the middle of a conversation. Still, he liked to sing and to eat and to tell and hear stories—very elflike in those respects, really. He smoked pipe weed, of course, which was _not_ an elvish practice, but through his dealings with Gandalf and Aragorn, Legolas had long ago grown accustomed to that peculiar practice, and so he was willing to overlook it in the Hobbit (although not in the Dwarf, it must be noted).

Because of his friendship with Bilbo, Legolas had been predisposed to like the other Periannath, and he had not been disappointed. Cheerful and well-spoken, they listened avidly to the songs and stories of the Elves and were eager to share their own. They were as a consequence welcome guests in both the Dining Hall and the Hall of Fire. And they were all of them brave: Frodo for accepting the burden of the Ring, the others for insisting that they be allowed to accompany their friend. 'A bravery born of unselfishness', Legolas thought to himself, 'for not one of them desires any reward for his courage. Wealth or honor or power—these are no objects to the little folk. Instead, they think only of one another's welfare. I think I understand why Gandalf believes it is a Perian like Frodo who should carry the Ring. At least for a time, the Ring may be stymied as it seeks for a way to work upon the Halfling. It will be quite perplexed, I think, wondering what it can offer that would tempt a being so different from what it must have expected!'

Aragorn suddenly raised his head from his knees, and Legolas saw that Gandalf and Elrond had come forth from the Hall. Aragorn arose to his feet and went to stand with his companions as Elrond began to address them. Although the nine chosen ones had come to be known as a Fellowship, upon Frodo alone did the elf-lord lay any obligation. Frodo was to guard the ring with a single-mindedness of purpose. He must not abandon it; nor must he allow it to fall into the hands of the Enemy. Indeed, it ought not to be delivered into even the hands of a friend unless the Ring-bearer were compelled by the direst of circumstances to take such a step. It was his burden, and his alone.

As for the others, however, they labored under no such charge. They were free to abandon the quest at any time of their choosing and for any reason.

The members of the Fellowship each reacted in their various ways to those latter words. Legolas saw that Boromir had unconsciously nodded approval, but Frodo's servant Samwise Gamgee had, equally unconsciously, taken several steps toward Frodo, as had the two younger Hobbits. Only Gimli, however, had spoken up.

"Faithless is he who says farewell when the road darkens," he had harrumphed.

"Maybe," answered Elrond evenly, "but let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall."

"Yet sworn word may strengthen quaking heart," argued Gimli.

"Or break it," replied Elrond.

Legolas knew that there was wisdom in what Elrond said, but he found himself admiring the Dwarf's spirit—although most unwillingly, to be sure! The Elf suspected that, even without an oath, the Dwarf was the sort who would never abandon his companions. 'Of course', Legolas hastily reminded himself, 'this merely shows that any flaw may upon occasion turn out to be an accidental virtue. That is to say, the Dwarf's stubbornness would extend to an unwillingness to abandon any course upon which he has settled or any folk with whom he has cast his lot'.

Elrond next again urged the Fellowship to travel with the greatest of secrecy. Legolas glanced at Boromir to see how he took this advice. Earlier that day Boromir had sounded his war-horn. Legolas had winced at the recklessness of the gesture, and Elrond had adjured the Man not to do so again until he stood upon the borders of his own land. Boromir had replied that he was not a thief who skulked about during the night hours, and his voice bespoke offended dignity. Now his face reflected the same. Legolas looked toward Gandalf to see whether he had noticed. The wizard scowled at him and shook his head warningly. Legolas looked away.

Elrond having delivered his last words of counsel, the Fellowship solemnly made way for Frodo, who walked bravely out the gate and into the dell beyond, followed respectfully by all the others. Only Legolas overheard the words that the little Hobbit anxiously whispered to Gandalf.

"Which way to Mordor, Gandalf? Left or right?"

"Left," Gandalf whispered back, gently pressing Frodo's shoulder. The Hobbit turned in the proper direction and marched off.

Of course, Frodo was to lead the column only a short distance. The ceremonial departure having concluded, Gandalf and Aragorn at once took over leadership of the Company. This suited most of the Fellowship, save one, perhaps. It seemed to Legolas that whenever he glanced at Boromir, Boromir was staring at Aragorn's back with a gaze that could have cut through flesh. Legolas began to stare at Gandalf's back, willing him to turn about and notice, but the wizard remained oblivious. On the wizard strode, stopping from time to time to consult with Aragorn. 'Galadriel is so much better at this sort of thing than I am', fretted the Elf. 'Of course, she is ages older and has had ever so much more practice'.

Gandalf, however, was not as oblivious as Legolas had assumed. Suddenly his words reverberated sharply between Legolas' ears. '_You_ mind the Orcs', growled the disembodied voice, 'and _I'll_ mind Boromir.'

'Yes, Mithrandir', Legolas signaled back meekly.

'It's _Gandalf_', came the voice again.

'Yes, Gandalf', Legolas replied silently. He knew that his ears were turning red, and he hoped nobody noticed. Ai! Gimli, of all folk, did.

"Scarlet ears," the Dwarf chortled. "Of course, scarlet is a good color for a princeling, in't it?

"My ears are no redder than your nose!" Legolas shot back, forgetting that he was an Elf and therefore ought to subsist upon a higher plane than a Dwarf, so to speak.

Gandalf stopped and wheeled about. He said nothing, but his fierce gaze quelled both Elf and Dwarf. After a minute, he turned about and stomped off. Elf and Dwarf followed, each trying to outdo the other in being perfectly inconspicuous.

As they marched on, Legolas resolutely turned his gaze anywhere but in the direction of Boromir or Gimli, and almost at once he noticed that Pippin, the youngest and smallest of the Periannath, was stumbling under the weight of his pack. Legolas decided that he would suggest to Gandalf that the Halfling's load be redistributed. 'He couldn't possibly object to _that_ suggestion', he said to himself.

At length Gandalf called a halt for a brief rest, and Legolas moved toward the wizard, meaning to raise the matter of Pippin's pack. Before he had a chance to speak, though, Gimli took matters into his own hands, and that literally.

"My pack is unbalanced," the Dwarf announced. "Seems to have more weight on one side than the other. You there—Pippin!—could you spare me an item or two from your pack so that I might balance my own?"

Before Pippin could answer, the Dwarf was rummaging through the Hobbit's gear.

"This parcel of jerked beef, that might do," he said, removing it from Pippin's pack and placing it in his. "Ah hah! A camp kettle. And I see that packed within it is a parcel of sugar. Excellent!"

After sorting and rearranging a considerable number of items, Gimli professed himself satisfied. When Gandalf declared that it was time to move on, the Dwarf shouldered his augmented pack and marched off stoutly, exclaiming, "Yes! That is much better. Thank you, Pippin, my lad!"

"Glad to be of service!" replied Pippin, who was much relieved in at least two senses of the word.

Now it was Gandalf who made sure to catch Legolas' eye, and when he was certain he had it, the wizard winked. The Elf felt his ears going red again, and hastily pulled up his hood.

Save for brief stops, the Company marched all through the night. At last, as the first streaks of dawn could be seen in the east, Gandalf called for a longer halt, and Aragorn led them to a copse where they might have some hope of remaining unseen throughout the hours of daylight. The weary Hobbits were almost instantly asleep, followed soon after by the Dwarf and the Man of Gondor. Aragorn had volunteered to take the first watch. As for Gandalf, he decided he needed a smoke. He pulled out his pipe and pouch of weed. He carefully examined his pipe weed, of course, but Legolas had done a thorough job of picking out all the fragments of mint, and the weed passed muster. He packed the bowl, lit it with a brand from the small, smokeless fire Aragorn had kindled, and gestured for Legolas to come sit beside him.

"And how are you getting on, my lad," he said after sending a smoke horse galloping through the branches.

"I am getting on very well, Gandalf. I am neither tired nor hungry nor cold."

"Yes, but how are you getting on with the others?"

"I have never had any trouble getting on with others," Legolas replied, his voice edged with resentment.

"No doubt that explains why you have just spoken to me in such a friendly fashion."

This time Legolas' blush covered his face as well as his ears.

"I want you to pretend for a moment," Gandalf went on, "that Gimli is not a Dwarf. What would you say of him?"

Legolas considered for a moment.

"He is strong but does not flaunt it. He labors without complaint. Amongst the Company, he carries his weight—more than his weight. He is considerate of his fellows, aware of their needs, ready to cheer and assist them. He is loyal. I expect he is brave. I have not yet seen him in battle, but he handles his axe like one accustomed to wielding it decisively."

"If you have noticed these things, Legolas, then perhaps there is indeed some hope of your 'getting on'."

"Are you going to have this same conversation with Gimli?" challenged Legolas. "Will you ask him to describe me whilst pretending that I am not of a race he despises?"

"Oh, I think not," Gandalf replied coolly, "at least not yet. For I am very much afraid that at the moment _you_ would not be able to give a good account of yourself—and if _you_ cannot, why, then how could _he_ be expected to? Goodness! Are you going to blush again? My dear boy, if you keep this up, your face will become a regular beacon, drawing Orcs from miles around!"

Legolas again pulled up his hood, this time so far as to overhang his face.

"I will take my rest now," he muttered. "My watch is after Aragorn's."

"Excellent idea, my lad. I trust you will have the pleasantest of dreams."

Ai! That was not to be! Legolas' dreams that night were populated by Dwarves, marching, marching, marching, each bearing upon his back an oversized pack. Superintending the horde was Gandalf, who beat his staff upon the ground in time to the tromp of dwarven feet. Legolas rushed at the wizard and seized the staff, breaking it in two, and suddenly there were two Gandalfs, each keeping time—and twice as many Dwarves! The Elf seized upon a second staff and snapped it apart—and now there were four Gandalfs—and four times as many Dwarves!

Legolas awoke in a panic, his eyes dilated. All was quiet. The only sound to be heard was the soft breathing of the Hobbits—and the rhythmic snoring of the Dwarf.


	4. Chapter 4: Fleas And Teas

**_Joee_****: Don't be _too _sorry for Legolas. If he didn't try to lord it over Gimli, he wouldn't embarrass himself so.**

_Siren6_: Thank you so much for the encouragement.

_Krissy__ Wonder_: Yes, Glorfindel is not as tough as he pretends to be. Yes, I do plan on there being pranks between Elf and Dwarf.

_Kel_: "Picking on him"? Don't you think Legolas deserves a bit of what he's getting?

_Theo darkstar_: Thank you! Here is the next installment!

_K'lara_: He he! I thought it was kind of neat to have Gimli multiplying in Legolas' mind. Yes, even though Legolas is _absolutely_ older, Gimli is older practically speaking.

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_.  
**  
**Chapter 4: Fleas and Teas**

The Fellowship continued its march southward, and the further they journeyed from Rivendell, the less attention Legolas paid to the peculiarities of Gimli. The Elf's attention was more and more drawn to the land about him, for every step the Company took away from Imladris took them nearer to their foes.

At first, however, they saw no sign of folk, either friendly or wicked. The land seemed deserted. Legolas knew, though, that the Dunlendings had not abandoned their holdings. They were a tenacious folk, and their kind had weathered long centuries of adversity. Neither plague nor drought nor warfare had dislodged them from their hardscrabble homeland. Proof of this fact was to be found in the fruit trees that were to be found here and there.

"Surely these trees must be wild ones," Merry pronounced between bites of crisp, sweet apple, "for there are no folk here about to tend them. How then does it happen that they produce such good fruit—and in such abundance!" He wiped the juice from his chin and took another bite.

"But they are not wild ones, Master Meriadoc," Legolas replied. "They are descended from trees gifted to the Dunlendings by Lord Elrond himself. They are in fact akin to the trees in Imladris from which you and Master Peregrin plucked many an apple during your stay in the Hall. I knew the Man who planted the ancestors of these trees. He was named Hyge Farmer, and Samwise would have delighted in his company, for he was a gifted gardener. Generations have followed after him in tending these orchards. The arborists are no doubt watching us as we pass, and when we have gone, they will return to pruning and grafting."

"I hope they don't mind that we have been eating the fruits of their labor," exclaimed Sam Gamgee, suddenly anxious.

"As you are with me, I think not," said Legolas. "Still, when we come to the end of these trees, I mean to leave a gold coin in requital of what we have taken."

"That would be wise," said Aragorn. "'Tis true that the Dunlendings have freely offered of their fruit in the past; even so, their hospitality should not be taken for granted, lest they grow resentful."

"Well said," agreed Gandalf. "Even a King, who is entitled to much, does well to show gratitude. It is a sign of respect toward his subjects, and will be answered in kind."

"A King," interjected Boromir, who looked nettled, "should not have to bargain for respect. It is owed him."

"A King may command much," replied Gandalf, "but he cannot command respect. It must be freely offered, else it is not respect but fear."

"Fear is a species of respect," retorted Boromir.

"I would rather be respected out of admiration than fear," said Aragorn.

"We are speaking of what a _King_ might do," Boromir said pointedly.

Legolas opened his mouth to upbraid the Man of the South, but he felt the pressure of Gandalf's hand upon his shoulder. Obedient to the wishes of the wizard, he remained silent.

When they came to the point past which no fruit trees had been planted, they found that someone had placed there a basket filled with apples. Understanding the apples to be an offering from the Dunlendings, they divided the fruit amongst their packs, and Legolas laid a gold coin in the bottom of the basket. As he did so, he caught sight of a small pair of bare feet showing beneath a nearby bush, and he smiled, remembering how long ago he had once been shadowed by the possessor of just such a pair of feet. Silently he pronounced a blessing upon the trees before turning to follow his companions.

Past the land of the fruit trees, the way grew grimmer. Although they were traveling south, winter was settling in and the air was chill even during the daylight hours. When they stopped to rest, the Hobbits would sleep tangled together in a knot, but still the little folk shivered. 'I haven't truly needed a blanket since I was an elfling', Legolas said to himself. He arose and went to spread his bedroll over the Hobbits. As he did so, he saw Gimli bending over the Halflings and spreading his own blanket upon them. "Haven't trimmed my beard in a good while," grunted Gimli as the Elf drew near. "'S making me altogether too warm." With that, Gimli stomped off and returned to the fire, where, Legolas noticed, the Dwarf sat as close as he could to the flame. 'He does have a prodigious great beard', thought Legolas, 'but it is not so bushy as to protect the whole of him from this chill breeze!' And after spreading his bedroll upon the huddled Periannath, Legolas went to sit next to the Dwarf, interposing his body between Gimli and the cutting wind. The Dwarf eyed him askance when he sat so near, but after awhile Gimli began to nod, and at length he fell to snoring. Legolas was pleased at the sound, for he knew his stratagem had served its purpose. 'After all', he told himself, 'it wouldn't do to let any member of the Fellowship go without sleeping well and deeply. 'Twould weaken the Company, for then he would not be up to strength if we came under attack'. And telling himself that this was the reason for his kindness, Legolas allowed himself to fall into a dreaming state until Aragorn roused him to take his turn on watch. Two turns on watch, in fact, for when his own watch was finished, he forbore waking Gimli and stood the Dwarf's watch as well. 'I am an Elf', he said to himself, 'and can do without sleep more easily than a Dwarf. 'Twill be better for the company if I do so'.

When Gandalf and Legolas roused the Company to resume its march, Gimli was chagrined to learn that he had been allowed to sleep through his watch. "I'm perfectly capable of standing my own watch," he protested. "I know you are," Legolas said quickly, "but I could not sleep for the cold. I thought I might as well remain awake, as I wouldn't have gotten any rest anyway."

"Hah," crowed Gimli as he strutted away. "There you have it. Those Elves have skin delicate as a babe's and cannot endure the sort of conditions we Dwarves make light off." Legolas might have taken offense at this gibe, but he was too busy congratulating himself upon his cleverness to have paid heed to Gimli's words.

'Delightful', thought an amused Gandalf as he witnessed these interactions between Elf and Dwarf. 'I am glad they are both along if only because their antics are so entertaining. I do not believe that the combined efforts of Merry and Pippin could result in such drollery'. It is true that Gandalf was exaggerating on that score, but it is also true, as a Poet among Men once wrote (translated into the Common Speech), 'Oh, would some Power the gift give us / To see ourselves as others see us!' If only Legolas and Gimli had been able to see that in the eyes of others they proved themselves alike as they competed to show off their supposed differences!

Aragorn was of course aware of the rivalry between Dwarf and Elf, but he was less sanguine about it than Gandalf. "As long as they cooperate," he muttered to Gandalf one day, "I care not. But just let them trouble the Fellowship, and I shall rub Legolas' pretty face in the dirt. As for Gimli, I shall leave you to deal with him. You know his weak points."

"Indeed I do," Gandalf assured him. "I shall put a spell upon Gimli's beard that will leave him as smooth-faced as an Elf."

Gandalf's vow brought a smile to the Ranger's face—and this was an expression that had not been seen upon his visage for several days! More relaxed than formerly, he arose.

"The fire is burning low. I will gather more wood."

"Oh, no, you won't!" exclaimed Gandalf. "Sit here and rest a bit. Let the scamps see to the wood."

At the word 'scamps', Legolas had automatically looked up, only to see that Gandalf was staring meaningfully toward the two youngest of the Hobbits. The two, Merry and Pippin, sheepishly put down their cards and trudged into a nearby thicket in search of fuel. Boromir, at a look from Aragorn, followed to keep them in sight. The Man of Gondor did not look happy, Legolas thought, to be set to minding the Periannath.

Merry and Pippin shortly returned, their arms laden with sticks. Boromir trailed after, and took his seat a little apart from the rest of the Fellowship.

"I shall build up this fire hot enough to brew tea," Sam declared. He knelt by the fire and began to feed it with sticks. The young Hobbits had not been as careful in selecting the wood as Aragorn would have been. One stick was damp and rotted, and when Sam pushed it into the fire, wood lice came swarming out. "Paugh!" exclaimed Sam.

'Better lice in the fire than in the fur', declaimed Gimli. Sam wrinkled up his nose. "Ugh, lice of any sort. The very thought sets me to itching."

"Sam! What do you know of lice?" Frodo laughed. "No such creatures ever came near your Gamma's wash pot—and if they had, they wouldn't have survived to find their way next _your_ skin. Thus, as you haven't had the acquaintance of lice, you haven't any right to be so dreadfully distressed."

"Gandalf has been acquainted with lice," a grinning Legolas announced. The wizard scowled at him and made chopping motions with his staff. Legolas ignored him.

"Gandalf?" chorused the Hobbits. "Not Gandalf!"

"Oh, yes," Legolas assured them. "Once upon a time"—here Gandalf looked exasperated—"our wizard journeyed far to the south, to the very edge of Mordor. He got into a bit of a tight spot, and in order to escape, he was forced to don Orc garb—garments that had probably never been washed since the day they were stitched. These garments were thickly populated with not only lice but fleas. When Gandalf finally escaped from his pursuers, he cast aside these garments and jumped into the first poisoned water hole he came to, even though it was ringed with perished beasts. When he came out, the nasty biting creatures were all dead, but did I mention he was covered with spots?"

Everyone laughed, not excluding Gandalf. Even Boromir, who had turned his back on the company as Legolas began to tell his story, joined in the merriment.

"A flea-bitten wizard," gasped Frodo, wiping the tears from his cheeks. "I know you have faced many perils, my friend, but I had not envisioned that one."

Sam was trying to stifle hiccoughs. "Well—hic—that is a marvelous—hic—story—Master Elf. And I am well warned! _I_ will never—hic—be so bold as to don an Orc weskit."

"Nor I!" cried Frodo.

Everyone fell to laughing at the thought of Frodo and Sam marching about in Orc garb—almost everyone, that is. Gandalf grew silent and thoughtful, staring into the fire as the last of the wood lice scuttled for safety, followed by one plump spider.

"Do you remember, Merry," said Pippin, "what a great fright a spider gave you that one day in Farmer Maggot's mushroom patch?"

"Oh, I do! I had very nearly filled our bag when I saw one last beautiful mushroom—a perfect specimen! I plucked it, but as I turned it over to admire it, there sat a great beast of a spider staring at me. There never was a larger spider in all of Middle-earth, I'll warrant."

Pippin giggled. "And there never was a louder shriek in all of Middle-earth, neither—a shriek that told Farmer Maggot what we were about. You flung down the mushroom, and then you had to fling down the entire sack, so close did Old Maggot hug our heels."

"But you must allow," Merry retorted, "that I was brave that one day when we were being pursued by Ringwraiths and a spider crawled onto my shoulder. Wasn't I?" Merry appealed to Sam.

"Oh, yes," Sam confirmed. "Largest spider I ever saw. Strolled over Merry as if the lad were naught but a bump on a log."

"Huh! that's nothing," scoffed Gimli. "Now my father, in company with twelve other Dwarves, once met with truly gigantic spiders, beasts that would tower over the head of our Aragorn here."

"And I have heard," muttered Legolas, "that the Dwarves did not fare well in that encounter."

"What's that you say?" challenged Gimli.

"You are speaking of Mirkwood spiders," Legolas said aloud. "Yes, they are indeed larger than the tallest of folk, Man or Elf. I have slain quite a few," he added casually.

Sam shuddered.

"You say that so calm-like, Master Elf! _I_ could never face such a beast, no, not if I bore a sword as marvelous as that there Sting that Master Frodo carries!"

"Never say 'never', Sam," Gandalf interjected. "No one knows what he is capable of doing until he is forced to choose between evil alternatives."

"Beg pardon, Master Gandalf, but if I know anything, I know I could never fight a monstrous spider."

"Then you _don't_ know anything," retorted Gandalf.

Sam's face fell. Legolas arose. "The fire needs better wood; I'll fetch some. Sam, as are planning to make tea, you might want to come along with me and fill your camp kettle. We none of once should venture off on our own." Grateful to be given an excuse to hide from the eyes of the others, Sam jumped to his feet and hurried after Legolas.

"Gandalf meant that as a compliment," Legolas said as soon as they were out of sight of the fire. "He was trying to tell you that you are braver than you realize."

"_Compliment_, Master Elf? If that was a compliment, then I never want to be on the receiving end when he is of a mind to mete out criticism!"

Legolas laughed. "You are right, Sam. You would not want to be the target of one of his rebukes."

Sam's looked at Legolas wide-eyed. "You don't mean to say that _you_ have ever been his target!"

"Oh, yes, many times. An elfling remains a youngling for a very long time and so, correspondingly, gets into a great deal of trouble. Don't tell the Dwarf, mind you, but once Gandalf whacked my bottom."

"He didn't!" gasped Sam.

"Oh, but he did."

"You must have been very naughty," said Sam solemnly.

"_I_ didn't think I was," replied Legolas, "but plainly _he_ did."

This put Elves in a new light for Sam. He hadn't thought of them as ever being children—it suddenly occurred to him that he had seen no youngsters in Rivendell—but if Elrohir and Elladan and Arwen were Elrond's offspring, well, then, they must have been small upon a time. And Legolas, he was the son of King Thran-something, so he, too, had once been a child. Sam liked the notion. It made the Elves less daunting somehow. He also liked the notion of a Gandalf bedeviled by a mischievous little Elf. It made the wizard less daunting, too.

Sam strolled back to the campfire feeling much better about himself, and he made a point of serving Gandalf tea before all the others. "Just to show the old rascal that there are no hard feelings', he said to himself. 'When you get right down to it, I reckon he's really just a tall version of my Gaffer'.

Gandalf noticed Sam's altered mood. 'Legolas must have said something to cheer him', he thought to himself. 'Good for the lad—that is, as long as he is not telling more tales out of school! If he is, when I remove Gimli's beard, I shall plant the whiskers upon _him_!'

And with that thought, the Maia cheerfully turned his attention to his tea, which was, all credit to Sam, really excellent for something brewed up in the midst of a desolate land. Perhaps, though, Gandalf would have enjoyed the cup even more had he known that it was one of the last that he was destined to drink.


	5. Chapter 5: A Feeling of Warmth

**_Lauren Hedgehog:_ I am glad this young version of Legolas works for you. It is an interesting balancing act because I want him to have wisdom and yet simultaneously youthfulness, even to the point of mischievousness on occasion.**

_Alexa:_ Yes, I don't want Legolas to ever grow up altogether. It's too much fun depicting him as a 'scamp'. As for the Hobbits, you will find some references to them in this chapter.

**_Windwraith_: Well, you already know that I took you up on your suggestion to provide back stories to some of the other characters! I promise to keep working on the 'E' narrative, and eventually I hope to take on your other suggestions _re_ Glorfindel, Celeborn, and Thranduil. Glad you found the chronology to be helpful. Several people had suggested that I really ought to do one up. When I did, I discovered I'd written fifty stories, so, yes, a list had become absolutely necessary!**

_Krissy_ _Wonder:_ Thank you! I have a lot of fun trying to thread elements from various sources, including Jackson's movies, into the narrative. Glad it works for you.

_Theo Darkstar: _Here is the "more" you requested! As for Legolas and Gimli, I hope to keep them veering back and forth between insulting and protecting one another.

_Joee_: The Elf and the Dwarf have an interesting way of competing with one another, don't they? Yes, Legolas was lucky that Gandalf didn't put hair on his toes for telling tales out of school.

_Apsenniel_: He he! I did like making Legolas sensitive to the word 'scamp'. Given his history, how could he not be?

_Opalkitty:_ One update, as per request. Sorry it took me so long. Real Life has been rather insistent in its demands these past several weeks.  
  
**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_**

**As usual, this chapter may incorporate lines and/or elements from the book and/or movie. **

**Chapter 5: A Feeling of Warmth**

The Fellowship had been traveling steadily without encountering any sign of danger—that is, unless the silence and emptiness of the land was itself a sign of danger. Gandalf thus began to allow himself to hope that their foes' defeat at the ford of Bruinen had truly thrown the Enemy off the scent. "Perhaps," he suggested to Aragorn, "our departure from Imladris has escaped His notice." The Ranger, however, was less sanguine about their prospects. "By now He will have sent spies throughout all the lands, Gandalf. At some point they are sure to pick up our trail."

"True," agreed Gandalf, "but if we have traveled far before they happen upon it, then we have a chance of reaching our destination in safety."

Aragorn was not in the habit of speaking sardonically to his mentor, but he did so now.

"Gandalf! Our destination is Mordor. We are journeying _toward_ our foes. If they pick up our trail later rather than sooner, that will merely mean that they have to pursue us a shorter rather than longer distance! And, remember: once we reach the Gap of Rohan, naught will stand between us and any fell forces that may be ranging northward."

Gandalf was unmoved by Aragorn's words. "Well, Estel," he gibed him, "if you don't like the course we are following, we can always redirect our path toward the Mines of Moria. I'll warrant that our foes would have difficulty following us through _that_ maze!"

At the words 'Mines of Moria', Gimli looked up eagerly. "The Mines of Moria," he enthused. "Balin and his folk would gladly entertain us—all of us!" Here he nodded at Legolas before continuing. "I say we ought to go that way. 'Twill cut miles off our journey, and we will sleep in comfort each night, instead of hiding in scrub throughout the day until 'tis time to stumble along under the miserly light of these stars."

"Better the light of the stars than subterranean darkness," objected Legolas.

"Subterranean darkness!" Gimli shot back. "Subterranean darkness! You don't know what you are talking about, Elf! The lights of thousands of torches shimmer from the shiny walls of Khazad-dûm, and in their glow glitter the most brilliant of jewels, beads of color pendant upon tendrils of precious metal that create a tracery the equal of any of the embroidery that _you_ sport upon your garments!"

Legolas was just about to allow himself to be impressed by Gimli's lyrical language, but the Dwarf's final words destroyed the effect, especially since Legolas' clothes had been decorated by his belovéd Edwen Nana. Legolas was put off at the Dwarf's comparing veins of metal in a mine with the lovingly stitched patterns that adorned even the garments he wore for everyday use. Fortunately, Aragorn spoke up before Legolas had a chance to fling a retort in the direction of the Dwarf.

"We will not go into Moria," he said decidedly. "We have heard no recent news from that place. Gimli, you yourself traveled to Rivendell in company with your father in part because it has been long since King Dain received any message from Balin. This is no time to scout a place that unbeknownst to us may have been overrun by foes! Nay, Gimli," the Ranger continued, raising his hand to stay the Dwarf's protests. "You know I speak the truth."

Grumbling into his beard, Gimli subsided, and the company marched on toward the south.

"At least the further we trek, the warmer it will grow," Frodo murmured to Sam, who had looked hopeful at Gimli's mention of comfortable lodgings.

"Can we be sure of that, Mr. Frodo? Those mountains over there, they look every bit as snowy as the ones further to the north."

"That is because the peaks are so tall. I have read that atop an especially tall mountain one can find snow no matter how far south one may be. If a peak is high enough, even a hot summer day will not suffice to deprive it of its snowcap."

"I never could figure that, Mr. Frodo. The higher you climb, the nearer you are to the sun. Don't it stand to reason that the snow would be the likelier to melt?"

"Apparently not, Sam. But we won't be ascending any of those peaks, so snow or no snow, we needn't be concerned about the matter."

"Thank goodness for that," exclaimed Pippin. "Those peaks don't look friendly—especially that one there."

"Caradhras," said Legolas. "And you are right to fear it. It has a bad name even amongst the Elves. Once we outgrow our elfling years, we suffer little from the cold, but on occasion Caradhras has been known to put even an elf-lord to the test. Glorfindel returned from traversing it upon a time and refused to stir from beside the flame in the Hall of Fire for an entire fortnight."

"Glorfindel," marveled Sam. "That great, tall, fierce Elf! Phew! If he found the mountain to be a trial to him, then it is a mercy that we shall be spared climbing it."

Legolas smiled at hearing Glorfindel described as a 'great, tall, fierce Elf', for over the centuries he had become familiar with the balrog-slayer's capacity for kindness.

Aragorn brought the column to a halt, and, forgetting Caradhras, the Company gathered around him.

"Gandalf and I are agreed," said the Ranger, "that, as we have thus far seen no especial cause to fear, henceforth we may travel under the eye of the sun. It will be warmer so."

This announcement was greeted by cheers from the Hobbits.

"For now, we rest," Aragorn went on. "We shall have a full night's sleep and resume our journey in the morning."

They had stopped at a spot bestrewn with boulders, and the travelers gladly slung their packs upon the ground and began to bestow themselves in the shelter afforded by the rocks. Sam, of course, immediately broke out his cookware. It was amazing, Legolas thought to himself, how many pots and pans and kettles seemed to have been tucked away in the Hobbit's oversize pack. "I believe Sam has come prepared to cook for an army," the Elf said to Aragorn. The Ranger nodded, but his eyes were on Boromir and the two youngest Halflings. The Man of the South was patiently lessoning Merry and Pippin in swordsmanship. Legolas followed the Ranger's eyes and for few minutes watched Boromir spar with Pippin. 'It is good of him to take the trouble', thought Legolas. 'Perhaps he is not such a bad sort after all. Certainly Aragorn is pleased to see him behave so'.

Aragorn had settled himself upon a boulder to watch. He lit his pipe and chuckled a little at Pippin's valiant efforts at fending off Boromir's feints. "Move your feet," he called. Pippin tried to do so, but as he concentrated upon his footwork, Boromir rapped him on the knuckles with the flat of his sword. "Ow!" the Halfling cried. "Sorry!" said Boromir, lowering his guard—a mistake when faced with two Hobbits whose fur had been ruffled, so to speak. Pippin and Merry launched themselves at the much larger Man, tackled him to the ground, and commenced tickling him with enthusiasm and energy all out of proportion to their size. From his perch on the boulder, Aragorn was amused, but he thought matters were perhaps getting out of hand. He arose and strode toward the combatants. "That's enough, gentlemen," he called. Pippin and Merry left off tickling Boromir, but then each seized one of Aragorn's ankles and yanked forward, pulling the Man's legs out from under him. The Ranger fell flat upon his back, not landing on any stones, fortunately. To add insult to injury, however, an apple set loose in the scuffle rolled against his head.

While this scrimmage had been taking place, Legolas had gone off to the side. Standing upon an outcropping, he scanned the horizon. In the air he saw a shadow many leagues distant. As he watched, it grew almost imperceptibly nearer. At last even the mortals amongst the company noticed it against the sky. "What's that?" called Sam, looking up momentarily from his cook pot.

"Nothing," said Gimli dismissively. "It's just a wisp of cloud." He made to put his pipe back in his mouth.

The exchange had caught the attention of Boromir, who had at last succeeded in throwing off his two small but determined assailants. "It's moving fast then, and not with the wind," he pointed out soberly.

Legolas had continued to watch the shadow intently. "Crebain from Dunland," he suddenly cried. "Hide!" commanded Aragorn, taking charge at once.

A wild scramble ensued, with Hobbits scurrying this way and that and Gandalf lifting up his skirts so he might reach cover all the sooner. Legolas would have laughed if the matter had not been so serious. Instead, with elven agility, he folded his slender body into the narrow space beneath a rock overhang and carefully peered out between the branches of a bush that clung to the thin soil before the outcropping. What he saw gave him no comfort. Moving with the discipline of a troop of soldiers, the dark birds methodically traversed the land in a pattern that bespoke intelligence. "This is no random flock of birds," Legolas thought in dismay. "They are searching for us." As if to confirm his fears, one bird broke away from the flock, his movements like unto those of a scout dispatched upon a reconnaissance mission.

As the birds dwindled into the distance, the members of the Fellowship crept out from their hiding place. "Spies of Saruman," spat Gandalf as he emerged from behind a boulder. "The passage south is being watched. We must take the Pass of Caradhras."

The Hobbits turned and stared fearfully at the lowering peak.

"It's so dreadfully tall," murmured Pippin.

"And those clouds look heavy with snow," Merry added with a shudder.

Gandalf looked at the Halflings, considering.

"The Mines of Moria," he began slowly.

"No!" interrupted Aragorn.

"I do not see," Boromir interjected, "why we cannot be governed by Gandalf in this matter. Did he not say the other night that he once visited that place? And Gimli here, he tells us that we would be made welcome."

"I have traveled in these parts more recently than either Gandalf or Gimli," Aragorn replied. "We would do better to attempt the Pass."

"Yet Legolas seems to have a healthy respect for the Pass."

"But I did not say I would refuse to attempt it," Legolas said quickly.

Rebuffed, Boromir shrugged. "I have thought ill of our course from the very first; still, I will be governed by the other members of the Fellowship—if this is indeed their will. But the Ringbearer has not yet spoken."

Everyone looked at Frodo. Gandalf seemed to be willing to enter the Mines, the Hobbit thought to himself, but Aragorn feared that place. Perhaps Gandalf's willingness to attempt the Mines arose from his belief in his Power. But the rest of the Company were not equipped with a wizard's peculiar virtues. Frodo wavered. It was Aragorn, he said to himself, who had managed to convey Frodo and his companions to sanctuary in Rivendell. The Hobbit made up his mind.

"I should like to attempt the Pass," he declared.

"Very well," said Gandalf briskly, seemingly not at all disappointed. "The Mines will still be there if Caradhras proves impassable."

"Neither course recommends itself to me," said Boromir softly. "We should set our path directly toward the south—toward Gondor, where my father would welcome us more royally than any Dwarf could. However," he said more loudly, "if cross the Pass we must, we should carry plenty of wood, lest in the end we find the cold to be the fiercest of our foes."

On that everyone could agree. All save Legolas occupied themselves in hastily gathering together as many branches as they could carry. The Elf, by unspoken consent, was left to scan the horizon for any further sign of the birds. From time to time he gave the alarm, and all would crouch down in whatever cover was nearest. It was only after several such interruptions that Aragorn judged that they had gathered sufficient wood. Then, grimly, they turned their steps toward the steep and snowy slopes of Caradhras. "We make for the Redhorn Gate," Gandalf explained to the Hobbits. "Once we have reached it, we shall come down the other side into the Dimrill Dale."

"If we passed through Khazad-dûm, we could come into the Dimrill Dale just as easily," grumbled Gimli, "and without subjecting ourselves to the bitter cold of Caradhras."

"Be comforted, Gimli," said Gandalf mildly, "that, whatever our route, at least you will be able to look upon the waters of the Mirrormere."

Gimli brightened. His eyes shone as he chanted, more to himself than anyone else, "Dark is the water of Kheled-zâram, and cold are the springs of Kibil-nâla. My heart trembles at the thought that I may see them soon." To Legolas, the Dwarf's language was uncouth, but he could not deny that it both rang with poetry and bespoke a narrative with which he was all too familiar. 'The stones of Hollin mourn for the departed Eldar', he thought to himself, 'and I suppose it must be allowed that the walls of the Dimrill Dale likewise mourn the Naugrim who once made it their home. We are exiles all'.

These musings, however, were soon driven from Legolas' mind by the task that confronted the Fellowship. The agile and slender Elf traversed the snow-covered slope easily enough, but some of his smaller companions found the going much harder. Gimli was able to bull his way through by main force, but the Hobbits were not as muscular as the Dwarf. And so up and down the column ran Legolas, aiding and encouraging the Periannath as they trudged more and more wearily through snow that seemed to grow deeper with every step that they took.

As Legolas ran back and forth, he would pass Gimli, and at first he smugly glanced down at the Dwarf who floundered through the drifts on his short legs. Truth be told, the Elf exulted in a rather small-minded fashion over Gimli's inability to run lightly across the snow crust. After a time, however, when he saw the determination with which the heavily burdened Dwarf forced his way through the weight of the snow, the Elf felt ashamed of his vanity, especially once he remembered that one reason Gimli was so heavily burdened was that he had taken upon himself much of Pippin's load. Abashed, the Elf began to make a point of nodding companionably to the Dwarf whenever he drew near. 'Wonder what that's all about', marveled the Dwarf to himself, little dreaming that he had inadvertently taught the haughty Elf a lesson. As Gandalf would have said, he'd brought the Sinda 'down a peg'.

After the Company had struggled on for what seemed like an Age to the Hobbits, the Elf perceived that the small ones could go no further. "Let us rest a little while, Gandalf," Legolas called to the wizard. Gandalf looked back and nodded. Gratefully, the Hobbits eased their packs off their aching shoulders. Near them, Boromir unslung his shield, leaning it against a boulder. But a chunk of ice shifted under the shield, and it fell over and began to slide down the slope. Boromir swore and launched himself after it. He threw himself full length upon the snow and grasped for the edge of the shield, but it eluded his fingers by the merest fraction of an inch. Swiftly Legolas chased after the escaping armor and laid hold of it just before it would have slid over the edge of a cliff.

"When we descend the other side of this mountain," jested Legolas as he returned the shield to Boromir, "you may slide down upon that shield and so save yourself a great deal of worry and labor."

Boromir stared at him. "Slide upon a shield? What nonsense is this?"

"Nonsense, perhaps, but a great deal of fun ne'ertheless," smiled Legolas. "When we were elflings, Elrohir, Elladan, and I indulged ourselves in such a sport. 'Twas a game we invented when we had to convey a great many shields from an old armory to a new one. Happens that the old armory stood at the top of a hill, and the ground was covered by a thick layer of snow."

"If I had ever engaged in such foolishness," scoffed Boromir, "I should have been beaten by my father, and rightly so."

"Elves do not beat their children," Legolas replied stiffly, all merriment suddenly draining from his face.

"Nor Dwarfs, neither," announced Gimli, who felt a surge of dislike for Boromir. 'For all that Man has a fairly decent beard upon his face', the Dwarf said to himself, 'he seems right primitive in some respects'. Without noticing that he was doing so, the Dwarf drew near the Elf, and together the two gazed upon the Man with unfriendly eyes for a few moments until Gandalf tersely asked them whether their feet had frozen to the ground.

The next thing to slide down the slope was a person rather than an object. Soon after they resumed their march, Frodo lost his footing and began to tumble down the mountainside, his fall arrested only when he came to rest against Aragorn's legs. He sat up and instinctively reached for the Ring that dangled from a chain about his neck. It was gone. He looked about wildly. There it lay in the snow, several feet up the hill. Boromir stood above it, gazing down upon the golden circle. He bent and picked it up by the chain. He held it before his eyes and stared fixedly at it.

Aragorn tensed. "Boromir!" he said sharply. But the Man of the South did not seem to hear. He stood mesmerized by the ring that glimmered at the end of the chain. "It is a strange fate," he murmured, "that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing. Such a little thing…." His voice trailed off.

Legolas felt rather than saw that Aragorn's hand was upon the hilt of his sword. The Elf tested the tautness of his bowstring and then moved his right arm surreptitiously toward his left shoulder so that he might grasp an arrow upon the instant.

"Boromir!" Aragorn shouted.

Boromir startled, as he had that day in the Council of Elrond when he had first tried to take the Ring.

"Give the Ring to Frodo," commanded Aragorn.

Boromir looked a little shamefaced. Slowly he approached Frodo, and slowly he proffered the ring. Frodo snatched it from his hand. Boromir laughed, but the laughter was forced. "As you wish," he said casually. He reached out a hand and ruffled Frodo's snow-flecked hair, but the gesture was as forced as his laugh. "As you wish," he said. "I care not." With that, the Man shrugged his shield more securely over his shoulder, then abruptly turned and began to trudge back up the mountainside. Behind him, Aragorn released his grip on his sword. Watching this exchange intently, Legolas relaxed his hold upon his bow and drew his hand away from his quiver. As he did so, he heard Gandalf exhale, and the Elf realized that he, like the wizard, had been holding his breath.

The next threat came not from within the company but from without. It began innocently enough, when a few flakes of snow fluttered down from the sky. Gimli looked up in surprise. "I thought the cloud cover had broken," he exclaimed. "Whence comes this snow?"

Gimli spoke the truth. There were no clouds above. But in the distance, the travelers saw a dark shadow approaching as swiftly as the crebain had earlier, and like those dusky birds, this umbra moved against the wind. Gandalf urged the Companions to climb more swiftly. "Hurry," he shouted. "We must make the Redhorn Gate before the pass is blocked. For I suspect that those are clouds that approach, and that they are heavily laden with snow. Is that not so, Legolas?"

Legolas confirmed that the wizard had guessed rightly. But the Companions could not trudge as quickly as a cloud could scud, and they were soon overtaken by the threatening shadow. And then it began to snow in earnest, thick, wet flakes coating their faces and freezing upon their skin, making it difficult to see as ice gathered in eyebrows and eyelashes. At last it seemed difficult to breathe, so heavy a crust formed about their mouths and noses. A few flakes clung even to Legolas, who had taken the point, gazing with narrowed eyes into the swirling snow as he tried to descry a safe path. As he cast about for a route that would offer secure footing, he thought he heard a droning from within the bellowing wind. "There is a foul voice on the air," he shouted above the roaring. Gandalf fought his way to stand by the Elf's side. "It's Saruman!" the wizard exclaimed. Behind them, Aragorn shouted that they must turn back. Gandalf ignored him and raised his staff. "Losto Caradharas, sedho, hodo, nuitho I 'ruith!" he chanted. "Sleep Caradhras, be still, lie still, hold your wrath." But an answering spell howled upon the wind, and the storm continued unabated.

Legolas felt the rumble of the avalanche before he heard it. Springing forward, he seized Gandalf by the cloak and yanked him toward the base of a cliff. The entire mountain seemed to be in motion. Like a torrent unleashed by the breaking of a dam, the snow swept down the slope and in its midst carried away even the heaviest of boulders. Fortunately, sheltered as they were in the lee of the cliff, the Company were spared the worst of its fury, for although they were buried under snow, they were not swept from the ledge to certain death on the sharp stones in the valley below. Instead, once the avalanche had spent itself, those who could began to punch their way through the icy crust that covered them. Legolas was the first to break free, and he looked about for the others. He saw Gandalf's staff poking through the snow, and he forced his way through icy hummocks to reach that point and quickly began to dig down toward the wizard. Gandalf's wide brimmed hat, about which the wizard grumbled so often, may have been the saving of him, for it had kept the snow from his face, providing him enough air to breathe until Legolas managed to uncover his head.

While Legolas dug Gandalf free, Boromir, Gimli, and Aragorn saw to the Hobbits. Had the Periannath not been accompanied by larger folk, they would have surely died. Pippin, especially, was trapped deep under wet, heavy snow. By the time Gimli had burrowed down to this youngest and smallest of the Hobbits, he was quite blue, partly from the cold, partly from lack of oxygen.

Of the four Hobbits, Samwise Gamgee had suffered the least, and that only because, as usual, he was in the company of Bill the Pony, whose frame had afforded Sam some protection. Yet even Sam was battered and shaken.

Once everyone had been freed from the grip of the avalanche, the Fellowship huddled together for warmth. They had given over all hope of going forward, but they could not retreat, not until the storm had spent itself. Boromir, Aragorn, Gandalf, and Legolas formed an outer circle, pushing the Hobbits into the center, where they might be sheltered by the bodies of their larger Companions. Legolas tried to push Gimli into the center as well, but the Dwarf resisted. "I may be short," he harrumphed, "but I'm wide. I make as good a windbreak sideways as you do lengthwise." There was no arguing with the Dwarf, but Legolas slyly made shift to spread his cloak so that at least in part it broke the wind that whipped at Gimli's back.

The Company huddled together in this fashion for a time until it became apparent that the Hobbits were still in peril of freezing. Then it was that they at last tried to light the wood that they had carried up from the valley. Gandalf had not been willing that they set it aflame unless they had no other choice, for a fire might draw the enemy to their encampment as a moth to the flame. Now, as Boromir pointed out, they had no alternative: either they would light a fire or the Hobbits at least would succumb to the cold. Morosely, Gandalf watched as Aragorn and Boromir tried to kindle a fire. Ai! the wood was damp, and the wind strong. The Men could make no headway. At last, sighing, Gandalf picked up his staff and muttered an incantation that sent a mighty blast of heat and light rocketing from the end of his staff into the midst of the wood. When this dazzling display had subsided, it left in its wake a crackling blaze, and the Hobbits huddled about it, their frozen toes practically in its midst. Over their heads, their larger companions reached their chilled hands toward the warmth of the fire. Even Legolas found himself gratefully rubbing his hands together as close to the blaze as he could manage. Beneath him, Gimli moved a little to the side. "I'm gettin' too warm," he muttered as he made room for Legolas to draw nearer the fire. Gandalf caught Legolas' eye, and the wizard smiled. But the smile struck Legolas as a wistful one, and Legolas heard within his mind the voice of the wizard. 'We're for Moria now, my lad', said Gandalf. 'We're for Moria now'.


	6. Chapter 6: Walking a Dark Path

**Thanks to the following for their reviews: _Aislynn_ _Crowdaughter, Lauren Hedgehog, Krissy Wonder, Riduculouslyriddikulus, Tibewen, Theo Darkstar, Windwraith_, and _Lyn_. I used the new reply feature to send specific messages to the people who were logged in when they reviewed. The administrators of fanfic say that we are no longer supposed to use up memory by placing replies to reviewers at the beginning of chapters. That makes me a little sad. Part of the fun was getting a public dialogue going. Oh well. Anyway, log in when you review so I can reply to you!**

**This chapter makes use of a portion of "Blind Fate" that fits into the chronology here. **

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly the Dedicated_**

**Chapter 6: Walking a Dark Path**

The Companions were slogging doggedly toward the base of Caradhras. "I've half a mind to ask Boromir for his shield," whispered Pippin to Meriadoc, "for I should like to try out Legolas' tale of sliding upon one. I'm that weary."

"He'll likelier give you the point of his sword than the use of his shield," Merry whispered back. "He's not the sort to suffer fools gladly—or to suffer anyone for that matter, fool or no!"

"That's not fair, Merry," Pippin protested. "Remember how we larked about with him before those wretched birds appeared and spoiled everything?"

"That's true, Pippin." Merry conceded. "All right then, perhaps he does suffer _fools_ gladly—so go ahead and ask him for the loan of his shield!"

Pippin gave Merry a push in retaliation for this gibe, and Merry's feet shot out from under him. As he began to slide down the slope, he seized Pippin's ankle and pulled him after. Giggling and spluttering, the young Hobbits tumbled a considerable distance, and so even without benefit of Boromir's shield, they did spare themselves more than a few steps. Watching them, Legolas smiled, but only briefly. As casually as he could, he came to stand by the side of Gandalf when the wizard paused to survey the path before them.

"I do not wish to go into Moria," Legolas whispered to the wizard.

"Are you afraid?"

"Yes. I am afraid for you."

"Save your fear for the others," Gandalf said gruffly. "I can look out for myself."

"You are an old Man," Legolas protested.

"Old enough to have amassed a stock of wisdom, Laiqua."

"Is it wisdom to enter into that place?"

"It is wisdom to take the only path that is open to you."

"We could journey south through the Gap of Rohan."

"And draw nigh to Isengard? I think not."

"We could elude Saruman's spies."

"Yes, and we have thus far done that _so_ successfully," Gandalf replied with more than his usual sarcasm.

Legolas fell silent. The wizard was right. Saruman knew where they were. The Elf had believed this to be true since he had first seen the crebain scouring the land. Yes, their way lay beneath the mountain, for that path would be best for the Fellowship. But Legolas could not convince himself that it would be best for Gandalf. The wizard resumed walking, and Legolas followed, reluctant to pursue this path yet at the same time anxious to stay as close to Gandalf as possible. The Elf knew that his first task was to protect the Ring-bearer, but after that he wished above all to ward off any foe that might come at his agéd mentor.

When the Companions at last stood before the western entrance of Moria, Legolas was, however, briefly allowed to hope that they might after all be spared a trek through that forbidding place. Gandalf could not think of a spell to open the door. On any other occasion, Legolas would have been chagrined at seeing the wizard stymied—and before an audience, too! Now, however, he could barely suppress his glee. Gimli noticed that Legolas was gloating, and he grew sullen at the sight, for he thought that the Elf was celebrating at his expense. As the Companions had approached the walls of Moria, Gimli had been expatiating upon the glories of that place. In particular, he had been bragging at how cleverly the doors had been concealed. As they walked along, the Dwarf delicately tapped upon the rock face, listening for a hollow echo. "Dwarf doors are not made to be seen when shut," he had explained to Pippin and Merry. "They are invisible, and their own masters cannot find them or open them, if their secret is forgotten."

"Why am I not surprised?" Legolas had muttered disdainfully. Gimli rolled his eyes and emitted a noise that sounded very much like a growl.

Gimli's humor had not improved when they arrived before the Door itself and Gandalf explained that it had once permitted trade between Elves and Dwarves, before those people had been sundered by mistrust.

"It was not the fault of the Dwarves that the friendship waned," Gimli had harrumphed.

"And I have not heard that it was the fault of the Elves," Legolas shot back.

"I have heard both," interrupted Gandalf, "and I will not give judgment now. But I beg you two, Legolas and Gimli, at least to be friends, and to help me. I need you both."

The two had subsided, but it was plain from their faces that, although they would no doubt cooperate and were on better terms than when they had departed Rivendell, still, they were not yet altogether 'friends' one with the other.

"If Legolas does not leave off twitting Gimli," Merry had whispered to Pippin, "we shall soon have to call him 'Glumly'."

"Or 'Grimly'," offered Pippin.

At the moment either name would have suited the Dwarf as he watched Legolas trying to stifle his delight at Gandalf's discomfiture. Spell after spell the wizard hurled at the door. The Istar did not leave off until he had exhausted every spell in every language save one. The Black Speech alone he avoided. Even in his frustration, common sense told him that neither the Dwarves nor the Elves would have placed an enchantment in that tongue upon an entryway that represented peace between peoples. Fair and trusting times those had been. Would they ever return?

While Gandalf had been racking his brains, trying to come up with a suitable spell, Merry and Pippin had wandered to the edge of the noisome pool that spread before Moria. Dark and unwholesome as it was, it was the only object of interest, and the two young Hobbits picked up stones and began to lob them into the water. Swiftly, his face grim, Aragorn strode to where they stood. The Ranger seized Pippin's wrist as the Hobbit raised his hand to fling another stone. "Do not disturb the water," Aragorn hissed. Then the Ranger looked anxiously at a slight disturbance upon the surface of the lake. 'Those ripples', he said to himself, 'they are not caused by any pebble'.

Sam was saying farewell to Bill the Pony and was no company for the two restless young Hobbits, who wandered over to join the other members of the Fellowship where they clustered in front of the door. By now Gandalf had cast aside hat and staff and was sitting slumped upon a block of stone, muttering to himself as he rehearsed the lore of centuries. "It should be so simple," he complained to himself. "The instructions are to 'Speak, friend, and enter'. It is only necessary to utter the right words. Even Merry could understand that. But what might those words be?" Suddenly Gandalf sat bolt upright. "'Speak, friend, and enter'! Merry asked me the meaning of that phrase, and I did not understand the import of his question."

Frodo, looking on, suddenly understood as well. "It's a riddle," he exclaimed. "What is the elvish word for 'friend'?"

In answer, Gandalf jammed his hat back on his head, seized his staff, and arose to his feet. Pointing his staff at the Door, he intoned the word 'mellon'. To the delight of all, the outline of a great double-paneled door appeared. As the Company watched, the door divided in the middle, each panel silently pivoting outward upon its hinges until it lay flat against the outer wall of Moria. Gandalf allowed himself a smile of triumph and strode toward the opening, the other members of the Fellowship, even Legolas, eagerly following in his wake. Gandalf had only taken a few steps into the mine, however, when Frodo, who was bringing up the rear, felt himself suddenly yanked off his feet by something that had wrapped itself about his ankle. Sam gave a cry, and the rest of the Fellowship quickly turned about to see the surface of the mere boiling with tentacles, one of which had seized upon the Ringbearer. Sam was frantically slashing at the arm with his little sword, but as he did so, a hideous head, all beak and fangs, reared above the tentacles. Gandalf held Pippin and Merry back, but the other Companions went on the attack. Legolas shot at the creature's head, aiming for its eyes. Boromir and Aragorn, for the first time drawing swords together, leaped to the edge of the mere and hacked at the monster's tentacles. Gimli strode after, his axe soon scything flesh. With their combined efforts, the warriors freed the Ringbearer and drove back the creature. Dragging Frodo into their midst, they made for the apparent safety of Moria. Gandalf had already shepherded Sam, Merry, and Pippin inside, and as the others scrambled after, the wizard turned to consider how best to seal the door. The creature, however, made his spells unnecessary, for in its wrath it attacked the mountain itself. With a roar, blocks of stone gave way, and the way was shut.

In the silence and utter darkness that followed, the Fellowship stood for a time as if stone themselves. At last Gandalf bestirred himself and sent forth a glow from the tip of his staff. In its light, the Hobbits looked very pale. Gandalf rummaged in the pouch that he wore at his side and brought forth a small leathern flask that held miruvor. He had doled out sips of the precious cordial when they had nearly frozen during the storm on the flanks of Caradhras. Now he deemed that it was again needful for each member of the Fellowship to swallow some of the restorative potion. Legolas shook his head when Gandalf proffered him the flask, but the wizard glared at him, and the Elf, thinking it best not to precipitate a quarrel, swallowed a few drops.

After the Company had recovered their spirits as fully as they might under the circumstances, they began the long trek through Moria. Gandalf judged that it would take them four days to reach the Eastern-door, and that was assuming that they encountered no obstacles.

As they marched, from time to time, Legolas glimpsed bones scattered in the alcoves and passageways that they bypassed, but he said nothing and trusted that the Halflings were not able to descry these fearsome objects. But what the Periannath could not see, they could sense. At length, the youngest, Pippin, drew near the Elf and looked up at him timidly.

"Legolas," whispered Pippin, "are you never afraid?"

Even though Gandalf's staff gave off no more than a glimmer of light, Legolas could clearly see Pippin's face. They had been walking for hours, and Pippin looked both weary and frightened.

"Afraid of what?"

"Of the dark. I can scarce make out my own hand!"

"But it is still attached, is it not?"

"What?"

"Your hand."

"Why, yes, of course."

"And you know that to be so without seeing it, is that not true?"

"Ye-es."

"Then what is the matter?"

"I am supposed to _see_ my hand as well as feel it!"

"Tell me, Pippin, if you closed your eyes, would you see your hand?"

"No, but then you wouldn't be supposed to!"

"True. If it were a moonless night, with the stars obscured by clouds, would you see your hand?"

"Perhaps not, but then I wouldn't particularly expect to!"

"And you are troubled neither by the fact that you cannot see your hand when your eyes are closed nor by the fact that on a moonless, starless night you also cannot see it?"

"If I didn't expect to see my hand, then I wouldn't be troubled by _not_ seeing it!"

"Good. Because we are deep within in a mine. Here light is no more likely to penetrate than it would through closed eyelids or moonless, cloudy skies. Should you _expect_ to see your hand?"

This put a new light on the matter, so to speak, and while Pippin was puzzling over how to answer, he quite forgot how oppressed his spirits had been. He betook himself to Merry, and the two put their heads together in whispered consultation. Gandalf, who had been eavesdropping on the conversation between Elf and Hobbit, looked back over his shoulder and sent Legolas a smile and a wink, and, as Legolas had elven vision, he was able to see these gestures as clearly as he had seen Pippin's face. Yet Gandalf believed that, even had Legolas been unable to see his gestures, he would have known of them nonetheless.

"He would have surely felt them," the wizard muttered to himself.

On the Company marched, guided by the dim light that came from the glowing tip of Gandalf's staff. For all his years spent underground, even Gimli would have been lost without that slight illumination. Gandalf believed that, of the Fellowship, only Legolas would have been able to find a way out of Moria should all light have failed them. Gandalf knew, however, that the Dwarf would be furious if he ever realized that the wizard was of that opinion. Therefore, whenever the wizard was unsure of which passageway to take, he was careful to make a show of consulting the Dwarf. But when he had the chance to do so without attracting notice, he also made shift to ask Legolas' opinion as well.

Aragorn knew Gandalf well, and he could not fail to observe the wizard's surreptitious efforts at seeking guidance from the Elf. It amused him to see the wily wizard cudgeling his brains in order to outwit the stolid Dwarf. He hid his amusement, however, for, like Gandalf, he knew it would not be wise to offend Gimli. It was not difficult for the Ranger to dissemble in this fashion. Over the years he had had much experience in hiding both his thoughts and his emotions. For this reason, he knew that the Hobbits thought him grim, and for a wistful moment he wished that they could see him as he had once been, as a youngster growing up in Rivendell amongst his elven kin. He had had no need of caution then, and when he felt joy, he let it freely be known!

'They would not recognize me if they saw me in such a guise', he said to himself. 'Indeed', he added ruefully, 'I don't think I would recognize myself!'

He heard a slight yet untoward noise and glanced back. Legolas was gazing back as well.

'So', Aragorn said to himself, 'it is not my imagination. Something has been trailing us. I might have thought it an echo, but Legolas hears something, too, seemingly'.

Then Aragorn noticed that Frodo, too, was anxiously peering into the darkness that pursued them. The Ranger was impressed.

'There must be some Elf in that Perian', he mused to himself. 'I am quite sure that none of the other Halflings have noticed anything. Nor are Boromir and Gimli aware that we are being trailed. Gandalf, now—it would not surprise me if he knew but has chosen to say nothing. He would not want to alarm the little ones'.

Aragorn slowed his pace so that he might inconspicuously fall into step beside Legolas.

"Have you seen what it is?" he asked softly.

The Elf shook his head.

"It is very sly and has stayed in such dark corners as even my eyes cannot penetrate. No doubt it is something smaller and quieter than an Orc."

"And cleverer."

"Aye, and cleverer."

"We must pretend to take no notice of it. Perhaps it will grow incautious and draw nearer so that we may determine what it is. Mayhap we shall then be able to capture or kill it."

Legolas nodded.

"I shall be alert for some such opportunity."

"Good. I would trust your eyes before my own."

Aragorn moved away from Legolas, although not before Boromir had noticed the exchange between the two. As Aragorn returned to his place in the column, for a moment Boromir looked him full in the face, staring at the Ranger with an unfathomable expression. Then he turned away, looking forward once more. Aragorn thought he had caught a mix of curiosity, eagerness, and resentment in the eyes of the Man of Gondor, but he was not sure toward whom or what those emotions were directed.

'The riddle Boromir posed to the Council', Aragorn thought to himself, 'was as nothing to the riddle of Boromir himself'.

Then Aragorn tried to push away such thoughts, for they awoke within him a foreboding that added weight to the fears under which he already labored.

"As it is said, 'sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof'," the Ranger murmured to himself, drawing a look from Gimli.

"Talking to ourselves, are we? Bad sign, that. Care to share the burden? It will be made the lighter if you do."

"Thank you, no," Aragorn replied, but he smiled as he spoke. It was generous of the dour Dwarf to offer to share his woes, and Aragorn was both surprised and pleased. Thus far the Dwarf had been the most taciturn of the Company—except, of course, when he was exchanging gibes with Legolas, which happened all too often. "They scold each other like jays," Aragorn had overheard Gandalf muttering, and he suspected that on more than one occasion the wizard had been tempted to affix bird beaks to the offenders' faces. 'Poor Gandalf', Aragorn laughed to himself. 'Was there ever a shepherd had the keeping of such an ill-matched flock?'

The shepherd in question was at that moment deciding that it was time for his flock to lay itself down. They had been climbing a seemingly endless series of steps and had just now reached a landing that would be wide enough for the lot of them to find spots upon which to perch and stretch out their aching legs.

"We will rest and refresh ourselves a bit," the wizard declared. "Haste ye to find spaces, for I am going to let my staff go dark—I am that weary!"

Packs were quickly removed and opened and water bladders uncorked. The four Hobbits clustered together. Gimli plunked himself down by the side of Aragorn, and Boromir, after a moment's hesitation, drew near and sat on his other side. As for Legolas, he positioned himself upon the lowermost side of the landing, gazing back at the direction from whence they had come, and Gandalf seated himself by him. When all were settled, Gandalf allowed his staff to go dark, but not before he had kindled his pipe. He closed his eyes and quietly puffed upon its long stem. Legolas, too, closed his eyes, concentrating all his being upon listening, listening. If the creature drew near, it would, he hoped, think the Elf to be asleep.

After a little while, Legolas heard what he was waiting for, the flap-flap of bare feet upon rock. The sound drew near, stopped momentarily, and then was replaced by a scratching sound. "It is crawling now, or slithering, perchance," Legolas thought to himself. He remained still, waiting until he was sure the creature was almost upon him. Then he opened his eyes, and he saw two orbs gleaming in the flickering light from the bowl of Gandalf's pipe. Briefly Legolas locked gaze with the skulking possessor of those orbs. At once, the miserable creature dropped its eyes and melted away, but Legolas had instantly recognized him as the wretched being that the Mirkwood Elves had guarded for a time at the behest of Gandalf. The Fair Folk had fulfilled this task with both great care and great compassion. It had cost them, Legolas reminded himself. In their kindness, the Elves had unwittingly put themselves into a perilous position, vulnerable to attack by Orcs, and several of the Prince's companions had been killed or taken prisoner as a result. Legolas silently rose to his feet, drawing and nocking an arrow as he did so.

"Legolas," hissed Gandalf. "What are you doing?"

"Gollum has been following us. I mean to kill him."

"I thought you had given over such foolish elfling behavior. We are in the mines of Moria, in case you haven't noticed."

"And in case _you_ haven't noticed," Legolas retorted, "I have excellent vision even in the dimmest of light. And were the light to fail utterly, I should track him by scent and by sound."

"Yes, yes, I know that," Gandalf replied impatiently. "I do not doubt but that you could track him. That is not what I meant! I need all your five senses devoted to helping me marshal the Company through this maze! Give over any thought of vengeance."

"Not vengeance! Justice!" protested Legolas.

"Oh, and are you to determine that?" scoffed the wizard. "Are you to be both judge and executioner? Folk who have made a practice of combining those offices have ever fared ill. But even were I to concede that it is justice you seek, you are pledged first to the Fellowship. Pursuit of Gollum is not part of your quest."

Legolas was not ready to concede this point.

"But, Mithrandir, by slaying Gollum, I should be safeguarding my companions," he argued.

"Can you be certain of that? If you slay him, it is altogether probable that you will bring down something worse upon your friends."

Legolas considered. Yes, he could think of several ways in which he could imperil the Fellowship by slaying Gollum. The creature might make an inconvenient sound as he expired, thus alerting any other beings that lurked in Moria that something was amiss. And then there was the problem of his body. It might be discovered, and, again, it would be clear that intruders were present. And what if Gollum were the agent of something or someone more powerful—a being that might come forward to investigate on its own if its spy failed to report when scheduled. Reluctantly, Legolas decided that Gandalf was right. The Elf slipped the arrow back into his quiver and resumed his seat.

"Hannon le, Legolas," said Gandalf gratefully. "Now I will tell you how you can best help. First, you must of course continue to be the eyes and ears of the Fellowship—not even a Ranger is a match for an Elf in that regard! Secondly, your laughter and songs and tales gladden the hearts of the Hobbits. That is very important! They look to you to keep up their spirits. Only lately you have succeeded in cheering up Pippin, the youngest of the Periannath, whose spirits were sorely oppressed by the darkness. Leave Gollum to his fate. It is the Hobbits to whom you must attend."

Legolas agreed, although he still harbored a little regret at being unable to pursue the creature.

"It does seem a shame," he said, "that I may not make full use of my skill at navigating about in the darkness."

"Ah, but that skill will not be wasted," Gandalf said, "for it consists of two things: first, your actual facility at moving about, but second, and more important for our purposes, the fact that your spirit is left untroubled by the dark. It is that spirit we have need of—I have need of! Do not fail me! The Fellowship may face darker paths even that this one, and you must not be distracted from your purpose."

Legolas could not think what path could possibly be darker than Moria. It would not be long, however, before he would find out.


	7. Chapter 7: Telling Tales

**Thanks to the following for their reviews: _Krissy_ _Wonder, Lauren Hedgehog, Theo Darkstar_, and _Opalkitty_. I used the new reply feature to send personal messages to the people who were logged in when they reviewed. The administrators of fanfic say that we are no longer supposed to use up memory by placing replies to reviewers at the beginning of chapters, but if you are logged in when you review, I will use the reply feature to get back to you. Of course, I welcome all reviews, whether you are logged in or not!**

**This chapter makes use of the portion of "The Tale Goes Ever On" that fits into the chronology here. The next chapter, however, should be of entirely new material.**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly the Dedicated_**

**Chapter 7: Telling Tales**

Pippin moped along, feet dragging, head hanging. 'Why, oh, why did I meddle with that well?' he asked himself miserably. The young Hobbit had been drawn to the shaft by curiosity and had dropped a pebble into it merely to satisfy himself as to its depth. How could he have known that the splash of a pebble would be such a loud noise against the stillness that was Moria? And now Gandalf was furious with him. Pippin would not soon forget the furious glance that the wizard had shot him from underneath his bristling eyebrows. "Throw yourself in next time, and then you will be no further nuisance!" the Istar had snapped angrily.

When the Company took a break from its trek through the dark corridors of Khazad-dûm, Pippin plunked himself forlornly against a wall. Aragorn was talking softly with Boromir. Gimli stood aloof, gripping an axe in his hands as if he were prepared to ward off an enemy at any minute. Gandalf was lost in his thoughts. Pippin's fellow Halflings had flung themselves down in exhaustion, and Pippin did not want to trouble them with conversation. He felt utterly alone.

Alone he may have been, but not unmarked. Legolas was watching him keenly. The Elf was well acquainted with the wizard's moods. He knew that the Istar could flare up and utter a mighty rebuke but nonetheless feel an undiminished affection for the target of his wrath. Poor Pippin! The Halfling did not know the wizard as well as Legolas, and the Elf grieved for him. Gandalf had spoken kindly to the young Hobbit the very same night that he had dropped the pebble in the well, but still Pippin seemed depressed. Legolas cast about for a way to comfort the Halfling. All four of the Periannath seemed to delight in music, and Legolas settled upon that as a means of cheering Pippin. He would sing, he decided.

Legolas sang softly, so as not to awake any perils that might dwell in that place. Yet soft as he sang, he entranced the Hobbits, who crept nearer until Legolas sat in a semicircle of Halflings. He broke off the song.

"I have in mind a story," he murmured. "Would you like to hear it?"

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed the Hobbits in a whisper.

Gandalf was immersed in his thoughts and paid Legolas no mind. Aragorn, Boromir, and Gimli, however, drew near so that they, too, might hear the story.

"Shall it have dragons in it?" asked Sam.

"No dragons, but it will have a wizard and an elleth."

"A wizard?" said Pippin nervously. "I do not think I want to hear any stories about wizards just now."

"Do not be afraid," Legolas reassured him. "This wizard is not a fearsome creature—not in this incarnation, anyway."

Merry put a comforting arm around Pippin, and Legolas began to speak in his soft, melodious voice.

"This wizard was a wanderer, as wizards are wont to be. Many a wearisome journey he took throughout Middle-earth. There were several places, however, to which he could repair when his charge became too burdensome. One of these was a Great Hall hidden deep within a forest. A most unusual hall this was, for, instead of being erected upon the face of the earth, it was dolven into the ground. Now amongst the subjects who dwelt in this Hall was a clever and sensible elleth who had devoted her entire life to assuring the comfort of her fellow creatures."

Aragorn was smirking now.

"Upon a time, the wizard was staying at this Hall," continued Legolas. "Now, sad to say, at times this wizard could be stubborn and irascible. So it was on this occasion. He rejected out of hand the kindly elleth's ministrations. In fact, he set a spell upon the door to his chamber so that she could not enter. For all his wisdom, this wizard could be extraordinarily foolish from time to time."

Pippin was smiling happily at the thought of a foolish wizard. Encouraged, Legolas went on.

"The wizard was congratulating himself on his cleverness—until he tried to leave the room. He uttered an unlocking charm and pushed upon the door, but it would not open."

Pippin giggled.

"At first he was not troubled by his failure, for he knew many unlocking charms and believed he had merely recited the wrong one. He uttered another. And another. And another. For hours he recited charms and pushed upon the door, but it would not be budged."

Pippin was smiling broadly.

"At last he heard a voice from the other side of the door. 'Do you need any help?' asked the elleth. The wizard confessed that he was trapped, and she advised him to utter the magic word. The wizard, of course, was indignant, and he informed her that he had been doing nothing but muttering magic words for the past several hours. She calmly replied that he had not yet said 'the' magic word. He racked his brains, wondering what magic word he could have possibly forgotten. At last the truth dawned upon him, and he blurted out the word 'saes', which is elven for 'please'. Now when he pushed upon the door, it swung open."

Pippin and the other Hobbits breathed out an "Aaaah" and nodded their heads wisely. They had suspected that this would be the solution to the wizard's dilemma, for they had been taught to use this selfsame magic word from the moment that they had first begun to speak.

"Legolas," asked Pippin, his curiosity restored, "how is it that the elleth knew more about magic than the wizard?"

"She had a magic of her own, Pippin, although it was not the same sort of magic as the wizard's. It was compounded of kindness and cleverness. She had borrowed a wedge from a carpenter and had used it to block the door. Since the door swung outward, the harder the wizard pushed upon the door, the more firmly it was wedged shut. Once the wizard had learned his lesson, she merely pulled out the wedge, thus liberating the wizard."

"Ooooh," gasped the Hobbits, who were suitably impressed. "That _was_ clever!"

"Indeed it was," agreed Legolas. "And it shows that even the most powerful wizard should not give way to pride. A person whose appearance is humble may yet show greater wisdom than a wizard—or greater compassion."

Suddenly Gandalf towered above the little gathering. A shaft of light shot up from his staff before the crystal that surmounted it subsided into the soft glow that had guided them this far through the maze that was Moria.

"So," he said, his voice soft but dangerous, "you are sharing tales. I have one. Would you like to hear it?"

No one would have dared to say 'no'. Gandalf grinned wickedly.

"Very well. Now this tale is set in the same forest as Legolas was speaking of, but it took place in a cottage rather than the Great Hall."

Legolas already looked worried.

"It happened that one day a wizard passed by this cottage and asked leave to spend the night. The wise elleth who dwelled there with an infant elfling welcomed him with great kindness. No doubt she recognized the wizard's great worth!"

"No doubt," said Aragorn dryly. "And she has been recognizing it ever since!"

Gandalf scowled at the Ranger, who subsided meekly.

"Now at this time the strawberries were at their most delectable, and the elleth wished to gather some. Knowing of the wizard's diligence and wisdom, she delegated to him the care of the infant. The wizard, in his humanity, condescended to accept the responsibility for this miniscule being, and I must say that he acquitted himself nobly. The infant, however, was not so well behaved. Even though he had already messed his nappies several times that day, he proceeded to do so again—and most foully, I might add! The wizard, however, was not one to sidestep his duties, and he tended to the needs of the odoriferous elfling. He consoled himself, however, by telling himself that, if said elfling, when an Elf, were ever to be cheeky, he could look him in the eye"—here Gandalf gazed straight at Legolas—"and say, 'Do not forget, young sir, that once I had to change your nappies!'"

Even in the dim light the Hobbits could see that Legolas was blushing. They fought to stifle their giggles. Gimli gloated, and Boromir and Aragorn both shook with suppressed laughter. Soon, however, Legolas recovered.

"I believe," he announced, "that there was more to this tale. I have heard it said that before the elleth entrusted the elfling to the wizard, she gave him a lesson on how to change nappies. This wizard, who was festooned with a long, tangled beard, failed to keep said beard out of the line of fire and thus ended up with dripping whiskers."

The Hobbits were biting upon their fingers, and Gimli was chewing on his beard. As for Boromir, tears were rolling down his face. Aragorn was bent over so that his face could not be seen, but his shoulders heaved spasmodically.

"So," growled Gandalf, "you would requite my tale. Well, as you have told a tale that was told you by another, I shall do likewise. I have it on very good authority that once upon a time, whilst an elfling was swimming, his clothes were stolen by two of his companions. He was forced to walk back to his home in his natal garment. Along the way, to avoid being seen naked by an elleth, he crawled into an abandoned badger hole—and became wedged. Bare-bottomed as he was, he had to be dug out before all the inhabitants of his Hall!"

Now Aragorn could not suppress his chortles.

"_You_ should laugh, Aragorn," said Legolas, miffed. "I could tell a few tales about you, I hope you know."

"Oh, please do," begged the Hobbits as one.

"Yes," grinned Boromir, "I should like to hear a tale about Aragorn."

Legolas shot a triumphant look at the Ranger, who pretended to be unconcerned.

"When Aragorn was little," Legolas began, "he disliked bathing."

Gandalf snorted.

"_When_ he was little! When he was _little_!"

Aragorn was moved to protest.

"Really, Gandalf, I am not as grubby as I was formerly!"

Gandalf stared pointedly up and down the person of the Ranger, from his tangled hair to his mud-stained boots. Once again, Aragorn subsided meekly. Legolas resumed his tale.

"Now it happened that Aragorn was visiting the same Great Hall that I told of before, where dwelt that elleth who was always desirous of looking after the comfort of others. Seeing that the lad was filthy, she laid on a bath for him. The scamp ran off to hide, however, choosing the deepest darkest dungeon for his refuge."

"My father has told me of those deep, dark dungeons," growled Gimli.

"Whilst in the dungeon," Legolas continued, "he entered a cell wherein a hole had been dug in the floor. He wondered how far the hole went, crawled in, and promptly became as stuck as the elfling had been in his badger hole. At last his shrieks summoned help. So wedged was he, however, that it took the good offices of Dwarves to free him. Messengers were dispatched to Lake-town to fetch some of these delvers, and they painstakingly dug until they were able to pull forth the lad without harming him."

"Ah hah!" crowed Gimli triumphantly. "Dwarves saved the day!" He turned to Aragorn. "I have heard this tale before, but I did not realize that _you_ were the lad spoken of!" He chortled gleefully, his eyes gleaming.

"Well," retorted Aragorn, "I have heard a tale regarding _you_! Shall I tell it?" he asked, turning to the other members of the fellowship. "Yes! Yes!" came back a chorus of whispered cries. Aragorn grinned.

"I happen to know that, for all they try to hide the fact, Legolas and Gimli had met even before the time they encountered each other at the Council of Elrond."

Now it was Gimli's turn to look alarmed.

"They first laid eyes upon each other on a dock at Lake-town. They got into a, ah, vigorous discussion. Our Gimli here was standing with his back to the water, gesticulating rather forcefully. Happens he began to teeter on the edge of the dock. Legolas leaned forward and grabbed his—"

"Don't go there!" interrupted Gimli, glowering.

"—grabbed his person, but Gimli let out a shout, startling Legolas, who let go his hold on his b—on his person. Of course that resulted in Gimli toppling over into the water, and Legolas had to dive in and rescue him."

Gandalf let out a guffaw and then tried unsuccessfully to disguise it by clearing his throat. This failed maneuver drew Gimli's attention to him.

"Hmmph," the Dwarf snorted, "is there any truth to the rumor, Master Gandalf, that you were once seen running about in a _mauve_ robe?"

"I was driven to it by necessity," Gandalf replied with great dignity. "My own robe had been shredded in an engagement with the enemy, and I was forced to borrow a robe on that occasion."

"An engagement with the enemy, you say," grinned Legolas. "That wouldn't be the time you backed into a Mirkwood spider web, would it? A sticky situation that turned out to be!"

"It was not," Gandalf shot back. "By the way, Legolas, I don't believe I have ever gotten around to congratulating you on how well your hair grew back after you set it afire meddling with my fireworks."

Legolas blushed for the second time. Pippin and Merry exchanged delighted glances. So they were not the only personages to have run afoul of Gandalf's fireworks!

Boromir cleared his throat. The company looked expectantly at him.

"Gandalf has visited Minas Tirith on several occasions. There was one time—"

"Boromir," warned Gandalf, "I have known you from when you were little. Are you sure you want to tell any tales about _me_?"

Boromir considered, but before he could answer, Frodo yawned. Of all the Fellowship, he tended to tire first, no doubt both because of the effect of the wound he had suffered at Weathertop and because of the evil influence of the Ring.

"The Ringbearer is tired," Gandalf said promptly. "We should rest now. Boromir, as you seemed so lively a minute ago, _you_ may take the first watch."

Boromir grinned good-naturedly.

"Very well. But later, when we are all better rested, I assure you that I shall tell you folks that tale about our friend here."

Legolas winked at Pippin, whose beaming face and sparkling eyes were all the evidence needed that the Hobbit had been restored to cheerfulness.

As the company lay at its ease, Legolas' keen elven hearing overheard a whispered conversation between Pippin and Merry.

"Won't it be grand," Pippin said softly, "to be able to sit at leisure and hear all the tales that could be told by each and every member of the company?"

"Oh, yes," enthused Merry. "I am especially looking forward to Boromir's tale, but more for what it will show us about Boromir than about Gandalf. He has told us so little about himself, and I want to know more."

"I as well," agreed Pippin. "Well, once we are through Moria, perhaps Gandalf will permit us to rest for a few days, and we will get our wish."

'Once we are through Moria', Legolas thought to himself. Encouraged by his success at cheering Pippin, the Elf permitted himself to believe that soon they would indeed stand once more 'neath the eye of the Sun. With that hopeful thought, he allowed himself to drift into dreams.


	8. Chapter 8: Into the Abyss

**Thanks to the following reviewers: _Lauen_ _Hedgehog, Windwraith, Krissy Wonder, Theo Darkstar, _and _OpalKitty_. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_**

**A couple of readers have asked me to identify which of my earlier stories I have been referring to, so here is a list of "Parallel Quest" chapters with notations on 'sources'.**

**Chapter 1: So It Begins **

**Gandalf ferrules the hands of Legolas, Elrohir, and Elladan in "The Wizard's Wand."** **Saruman attempts to drown Legolas in the River Isen in Chapter 2 of "The Grief of Gandalf the Grey."**

**Chapter 2: A Fetching Elf**

**Thranduil becomes interested in the idea of a marriage between Legolas and Arwen in Chapter 54 of "Things Fall Apart."**

**Chapter 4: Fleas and Teas**

**Legolas spots bare feet under Dunland bushes in Chapter 22 of "Returning from the Dead." One pair turns out to belong to Hyge Farmer, a skilled gardener whose bare feet Legolas first met in Chapter 13 of "Returning from the Dead." Gandalf is bitten by lice when he disguises himself in Orc garments in Chapters 6 and 11 of "Number Nine." Gandalf whacks Legolas' bottom with his staff in Chapter 8 of "To the West."**

**Chapter 5: A Feeling of Warmth**

**Legolas slides down a hill upon a shield in Chapter 9 of "The Nameless One."**

**Chapter 7: Telling Tales**

**Edwen Nana traps Gandalf in a chamber until he says 'Please' in Chapter 4 of "Hair Raising Adventures." Gandalf diapers an infant Legolas in Chapter 2 of "The Clearing." Legolas becomes stuck in a badger hole in Chapter 1 of "Elfling Retribution." Aragorn becomes trapped in the dungeon of Thranduil's Great Hall in Chapter 14 of "Things Fall Apart." Gimli falls into the lake at Esgaroth and is fished out by Legolas in Chapter 28 of "Things Fall Apart." Gandalf is forced to borrow a mauve robe in Chapter 3 of "Things Fall Apart." Gandalf backs into a Mirkwood spider web in Chapter 31 of "Things Fall Apart." Legolas' hair is singed by Gandalf's fireworks in Chapter 3 of "Got Milk?"**

**Chapter 8: Into the Abyss**

"We must move on. We cannot linger!" Legolas whispered to Aragorn. The feeling had been growing upon the Elf that something evil drew near. Not Gollum, no, but something even more vicious and more powerful.

Aragorn nodded, his eyes fixed on Gandalf, who was reading aloud from a battered book that told of the tragic final days of Balin and the Dwarves he had led into Khazad-dûm in a futile attempt to re-establish their hold upon that place. Near him stood Gimli, his head bowed. The Hobbits stood by respectfully—all save Pippin. Gandalf had handed the youngest Halfling his hat and staff, and clutching these with one arm, Pippin reached idly toward the hand of a skeleton that sat slumped by the stones surrounding what once must have been a well.

Only a few shreds of ligament and desiccated skin held together the bones of the skeleton. Pippin gave the skeletal hand the merest touch, but it was enough to jar loose the skull that teetered perilously upon the bony neck. The skull toppled over into the well, as it fell bumping against an old bucket that lay atop the stones. The bucket, too, fell into the well, and after it clanked the rusty chain that had upon a time been used to draw the laden bucket back up to the surface. Cringing, Pippin thought that the racket would never cease as skull, bucket, and chain clattered against the stone sides of the well while falling the unimaginable distance into the abyss at the root of the mountain.

At last the noise died away. Legolas and all the others allowed themselves to breathe again. The wizard glowered at Pippin, seized from him his hat and staff, and repeated words like those he had uttered when Pippin had earlier dropped the pebble.

"Fool of a Took! Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity," he scolded.

Huffily, he turned his back upon the Hobbit and began to stalk away, but came to a sudden halt as an eerie cry arose from the well. As if in echo, other cries resounded from every side. Legolas recognized the sounds. "Yrch," the Elf hissed. Almost simultaneously, Sam gave a cry and pointed at Frodo's sword. Frodo laid his hand upon its haft and drew Sting partially clear of its sheath. When he did so, all could see that it glowed blue, as it ever had when goblins drew near.

"Get back! Stay close to Gandalf," Aragorn ordered the Hobbits. Gandalf tossed aside his hat and staff, and as the Hobbits sheltered behind him, he drew his great sword Glamdring. In these cramped quarters, neither hat nor staff would be of use. Legolas, meanwhile, had loosened his knives in their sheaths and nocked an arrow. For his part, Gimli clambered upon Balin's tomb, to gain an advantage in height, and gripped his axe grimly. "Let them come!" he growled. "There is one Dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath." He brandished his weapon and fixed his eyes upon the door. Boromir, too, readied himself. He drew his sword and leaped to the door to reconnoiter. He recoiled hastily and slammed the door shut as arrows slammed into the wood near his head. "They have a Cave Troll," he observed with weary resignation. Aragorn sprang to his side, and Legolas tossed the two Men discarded axes and pikes with which to bar the door. That done, Aragorn fitted an arrow to his bow, and Legolas, Boromir, and Aragorn lined up facing the door, from behind which came shrieks and shrill howls. As for Gimli, he maintained his position upon the tomb, for his axe would be of most use in close combat.

As the warriors stood in readiness, blow after blow fell upon the door, which trembled and groaned. A pike broke through, and Legolas, judging the height of his foe from the placement of the pike, released a shaft. Something gave a hideous howl, and the pike was withdrawn. It was soon replaced by another weapon, and again Legolas shot at his unseen foe. Soon, though, the foes were no longer invisible, for the panels of the door splintered apace. At last, its frame shattered, the door gave way completely. The first Orc to leap fully into the chamber fell with Legolas' arrow in his throat, but that goblin was instantly replaced by another. This second Orc fell as quickly as the first, but was succeeded by a third. The supply of goblins seemed endless, and the combined bows of Aragorn and Legolas could not hold such a horde at bay. Soon Boromir had work to do, and Aragorn abandoned his bow for his sword, while Legolas did the same for his knives. Blood sprayed from the severed limbs of Orcs, but the warriors were vastly outnumbered and were being forced back toward where Gimli and Gandalf stood vigil. By now the Hobbits had bravely drawn their little swords. These were mere knives in the eyes of Men, and the Hobbits prayed that these weapons would be more effectual against Orcs than they had been against the Ringwraiths who had attacked them atop Amon Sûl, within the ring of Weathertop. They would soon find out, for Gandalf deemed that the moment had come to lead his little band into battle. Raising his sword high, he gave a mighty shout for one so old and charged toward the Orcs, the Hobbits following with a courage that gave them a power far beyond their stature.

For several moments the Orcs were nonplussed as small but doughty Hobbits drove under their guards. Howling, the goblins scuttled about the chamber in pursuit of these infuriating creatures that ducked and wove under and about obstacles. Whether by design or no, the Hobbits kept leading their pursuers towards Balin's tomb, and as soon as any goblin came within reach, Gimli relieved the Orc of its head. Although outnumbered, the Fellowship was now holding its own.

It was then, however, that the Orcs unleashed their Cave Troll. They had held back the beast because it was so difficult to control and would as readily fell an Orc as an Elf. Hearing the sounds of combat, it had been furiously pulling at its chain, so that its Orc handlers had been hard put to restrain it. Now they urged it forward with whips, although it had no need of such encouragement. It surged into the chamber, in its eagerness smashing through the stones of the door arch. Sam, who had but lately discovered that a frying pan to the face could bring down an Orc as well or better than a little sword, suddenly found himself confronting the Cave Troll, which raised a mace. As the weapon descended, Sam dove forward between the Troll's legs, and the beast halted, momentarily perplexed. It soon recovered, however, and roaring in fury it yanked free of its handlers and resumed its pursuit of Sam, who found himself trapped against a wall. The beast raised one of its huge feet and would have trampled the Hobbit, but Boromir seized hold of the chain that dangled from the Troll's collar and pulled with all his might, delaying the beast long enough to allow Sam to scramble out of the way. Thwarted, the Troll turned on Boromir, and with a powerful sideways sweep of one paw, the beast sent Boromir flying against a wall. Knocked momentarily senseless, the Man sprawled helpless upon the flagstones, and an Orc, seizing the opportunity, raised its weapon to hew the Man's body. But it was the Orc that was to be hewn, for Aragorn saw Boromir's peril and, charging forward, he drove his sword into the goblin's back. Dazed, Boromir lay for a second longer after his would-be slayer had been dispatched, long enough for Aragorn to nod briefly to the Man of the South and for Boromir to return the gesture of acknowledgment. Then Aragorn returned to the fray, and Boromir staggered to his feet and did likewise.

The Troll, meanwhile, had chosen another target: Legolas, who had sprung upon a ledge out of reach of the beast. The Troll tried to knock the Elf down by striking at him with its chain. Again and again the Troll swung the chain at Legolas, and again and again the Elf nimbly evaded the beast as chips of rock flew from the wall wherever the chain smashed against it. At last as the Troll swung the links they whipped about a column. Swiftly Legolas jammed his foot against the chain, and the Cave Troll was brought up short. As the beast paused, confused, Legolas leaped upon the chain, stretched taut between the column and the Troll's collar, and ran atop it as if it were a tightrope. He leaped upon the beast's shoulders, shot an arrow into the top of its head, and then, as the Troll howled and flailed its arms, the Sinda leaped to the ground and sprang aside. The Elf was immediately beset by Orcs and lost sight of the Troll, which now lumbered off toward the Hobbits, who had clustered together momentarily in one corner of the chamber. As the beast bore down upon them, Merry, Pippin, and Sam shoved Frodo toward the cover provided by a row of columns—but, unaccountably, the Troll ignored the trio and made straight for the Ringbearer. For several seconds Hobbit and Troll played a deadly game of hide-and-seek, until the beast managed to get a grip upon Frodo's ankle and began to drag him into the open. Frodo frantically slashed at the beast's claw, all the while shouting for Aragorn, who was the nearest warrior. As Aragorn cut down the Orcs who stood between him and the Hobbit, Frodo broke free from the grip of the Troll and scrambled toward the Ranger. Thrusting Frodo behind him, the Dúnadan wrenched a spear from the hands of a dead Orc and drove the weapon into the Troll's chest. Any other creature would have been slain by the blow dealt by the Man; as it was, however, the Troll, although it groaned and roared, was only delayed momentarily in his rampage. Recovering quickly, it swept Aragorn aside as easily as it had earlier swept aside Boromir. Thrown against a column, the Ranger sprawled unconscious as the Troll resumed stalking Frodo. Frodo dodged through the wreckage of the chamber, stopping momentarily by Aragorn to desperately try to shake the Ranger into consciousness. When he could not, the Hobbit resumed his futile effort to shake his pursuer. The Troll was brandishing the very spear that Aragorn had wielded, and the beast used it to great effect, thrusting it in Frodo's path whenever he tried to evade his enemy. At last Frodo was boxed into a corner, and with a satisfied snort that was its version of a chuckle, the Troll stabbed at Frodo with the spear.

With this fearsome weapon protruding from his jacket, Frodo slid limply to the floor. His eyes rolled back into his head, and his chest heaved spasmodically, as if he were drawing his last breath. Sam, who had been driven by the battle to the other side of the chamber, shouted in horror, and no Orc could stand before him as he charged toward his fallen master. Even the Troll was taken aback as this fury descended upon it, and Sam was soon seconded by the other members of the Fellowship. All the Orcs having been felled, every weapon was turned against the Troll.

Legolas was the one who finally succeeded in bringing it down. As the others hewed and hacked at the beast's thick skin, the Elf nocked an arrow and waited for a chance to strike the Troll at a vulnerable point. At last he saw his opportunity. As the Troll roared, Legolas aimed his shaft, angled up, into the midst of its gaping maw. The base of the Troll's palate was much softer than the bone of its skull, and Legolas' arrow penetrated its brain. The stricken beast wailed, and Legolas would have pitied it if he could have spared the emotion. Instead, he only had time to leap aside as the Troll staggered and then fell forward heavily upon the flagstones.

For a moment, the members of the Fellowship stood still, breathing hard. Then all rushed toward Frodo where he lay crumpled upon the floor. They did not know whether he was dead or alive, and they had no time to find out. Their foes in the chamber had been vanquished, but distant cries told them that Moria still swarmed with enemies. Aragorn seized Frodo and flung him over his shoulder, and Gandalf urged them onward. "Come," he said brusquely, retrieving his staff and swiftly leading them out of the chamber. As they fled from one side of the room, Legolas knew that something both formidable and foul was entering from the other side. Gandalf must have felt it, too, for after the Fellowship had escaped the burial chamber of Balin, Gandalf did not follow his companions upon the instant. Legolas looked up from the bottom of the flight of steps that he and the others had descended and saw Gandalf, his staff upraised, standing before the door and murmuring an incantation in an attempt to seal the door. Whatever was on the other side of the wooden barrier, it was nearly a match for the wizard, for as the Elf watched, he felt the energy seeping from his own body. Suddenly Legolas heard a roar and saw a flash, and the wizard nearly turned at least one cartwheel as he was catapulted down the stairs. Legolas caught hold of the wizard as he stumbled off the final step. The Istar looked pale and weary, and Legolas hoped they would meet nothing fouler than an Orc as they continued their flight, for the Elf knew that the wizard must be very nearly drained of power.

Before they raced on, however, something happened to reinvigorate the wizard, if only a trifle. A feeble voice was heard from behind Aragorn, who, if he had not had the self-possession of a Ranger, would have dropped the burden that lay across his shoulder. Frodo was alive and had regained consciousness. "I am all right," he gasped. "I can walk. Put me down!"

"That spear-thrust would have skewered a wild-boar!" marveled Aragorn, but the Dúnadan did as Frodo asked while all the Fellowship gazed upon the Hobbit in amazement. Gandalf gave him a keen look. "There is more about you that meets the eye," he exclaimed with the hint of a smile around the edges of his mouth. There was no time to plumb this miracle, however, for in the distance could be heard the renewed shouts of their enemies. With Gandalf in the lead, they raced on. The wizard had no doubt of his path, for they were very near the bridge of Khazad-dûm. But as they ran, Orcs came pouring out of every side passage, and like cockroaches they scuttled down from above, clinging with all limbs to the columns as they swarmed upon the columns. Soon the Fellowship found itself surrounded by the leering creatures, their eyes glowing in the dim light cast by Gandalf's staff. Gimli raised his axe and growled defiance. As if in echo, a second growl reverberated from the walls. The Orcs quailed and let out screeches and wails as they scuttled back into the shadows. Gimli guffawed at their retreat, but no else shared his glee. "What new devilry is this?" Boromir muttered between gritted teeth. Intermingled, shadow and flame flickered against the walls, and Legolas had a brief vision of a beast looming as tall as the mountain itself. He felt an unaccustomed coldness shoot through his body and began to shake. Gimli looked at him worriedly. "What do you sense, Legolas?" asked the Dwarf quietly, his words acknowledging for the first time that the Elf could perceive things hidden from the Nauga,

"A fearsome foe," murmured Legolas, still trembling. "Greater than any I have encountered."

"Worse than a dragon?" Gimli said anxiously.

Legolas nodded. "Far worse."

Whatever pursued them, it made the very rocks tremble. On ran the Fellowship. From time to time, Legolas glanced back. Shadow and Flame. Intermingled the two irreconcilables o'erspread the walls behind them, looming ever larger and larger.

They came to a small bridge—not, Gandalf declared, the span that they sought, but near to it. Its arch was breached in the center, but the gap was not so wide that it could not be o'ercome—by a Man or an Elf, anyway. Legolas was the first to spring across, and then, with Legolas shouting encouragement, Gandalf followed. Legolas reached out for the wizard as he landed to draw him forward, away from the edge.

After Gandalf leaped across, Boromir, the stout Man of the South, took hold of Pippin under one arm and Merry under another and, with a mighty leap, followed wizard and Elf across the chasm. Then Aragorn seized Sam and bodily flung him across the gap, into the arms of Boromir. Next the Ranger made to reach for Gimli, but the Dwarf held up his hand and stayed him. "Nobody tosses a Dwarf," roared the indignant Nauga. Swinging his arms for momentum, the Dwarf made an impressive leap for one of his size—but for all that he landed on the very brink and teetered perilously, in great danger of falling backwards into the abyss. Legolas sprang forward and seized the part of the Dwarf nearest to hand—his luxuriant facial hair. "Not the beard!" Gimli howled reflexively, but Legolas ignored him and yanked the Dwarf to safety in spite of his protests. It must be noted that Gimli promptly forgave him the indignity.

Now only Aragorn and Frodo remained apart from the others, but before Aragorn could throw Frodo to safety, a cracking and grinding noise was heard and Aragorn and Frodo's side of the bridge began to sway. With the unsteadiness of the bridge, Aragorn could not gain secure enough purchase to dare an attempt at flinging Frodo across the gap. Instead, he took a secure grip upon the back of Frodo's tunic and urged the Hobbit to lean straight forward, for he perceived that, if the weight were distributed properly, the remnants of the bridge might fall forward, toward their companions. After several agonizing minutes, the bridge, with a final groan, came to rest against the far side. The chasm breached, Aragorn and Frodo leaped into the welcoming arms of their comrades.

At once retaking the lead, Gandalf urged the Fellowship onward, looking over his shoulder and shouting at them to hurry! hurry! Then he suddenly stopped and gestured before him.

"Our last obstacle," the wizard shouted. "The bridge of Khazad-dûm. Beyond it nothing will stand between you and escape from this place. Once you have passed the Eastern-gate of Moria, these cave Orcs will not dare follow as long as the sun still wields his power. Haste ye then and make for Lothlórien!"

The wizard stayed where he was, gesturing for each of his companions to follow. Aragorn was last, and he paused to let the wizard precede him. Gandalf roughly pushed him on ahead. "You must lead the Fellowship," he growled. Aragorn looked baffled, and Gandalf gave him another hard shove. "Do as I say!" the Istar well-nigh snarled. "Swords are no more use here. Go!" Reluctant, yet faced with Gandalf's intransigence, Aragorn turned and ran after his fellows. Gandalf followed as well, but more slowly. When his companions had crossed the bridge, the wizard was still in its midst. The Istar turned and faced whatever it was that followed them. Out of Shadow and Flame stepped forth a creature Legolas had hitherto seen only in his nightmares—a creature none but Glorfindel had ever bested, and even that formidable warrior had for a time forfeited his life as the price for doing so.

Legolas gave a cry of fear and dismay. "Ai! ai! A Balrog! A Balrog is come," he wailed. The Elf had drawn an arrow from his quiver, but he knew that no shaft he possessed could bring down this creature, and the arrow slipped from his trembling hand. Beside him, Gimli had dropped his ax, and as if from afar, Legolas heard the Dwarf cry "Durin's Bane!" 'So this creature lives in the nightmares of both our peoples', Legolas thought to himself as he began to recover his wits. At the same time he felt something press against his hand. Looking down, he saw that he again clutched the arrow. Gimli had bent down to pick up his ax and had retrieved Legolas' weapon as well. Wordlessly, Legolas nodded his thanks. But he made no move to fit the arrow to his bowstring.

Gandalf stood upon the bridge, staff in one hand, sword in the other, as the Balrog drew itself up to its full height. Gandalf was dwarfed by its great size, but the wizard spoke as one unafraid. "You cannot pass," he proclaimed, his words filling the cavernous space that had fallen strangely silent. "I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûn. Go back to the Shadow! You cannot pass."

The Balrog bore a flaming whip in one hand and a fiery sword in another. In answer to the wizard's challenge, the sword flashed, and the Balrog brought down the sword with a blow so mighty that the air sizzled with the passage of the weapon. Gandalf staggered a little as he met the blow with his own sword, but it was the Balrog's sword, not Galdalf's Glamdring, that shattered at the impact. "You cannot pass," Gandalf repeated.

By now Legolas had fully recovered himself, and he began to race back over the bridge to take his place at the side of the wizard. He could not bring down the beast with an arrow, but he would stand by Gandalf nonetheless. Suddenly, however, he came to an abrupt halt. 'Stay with the Fellowship', commanded Gandalf's voice, and Legolas felt as if his feet had become rooted to the ground. 'Gandalf has cast a spell upon me', he thought despairingly. 'He will not have me help him! No', he said, feeling anew the strength in his legs, 'that's not true'. He took another step toward the wizard. 'Stay with the Fellowship', repeated Gandalf's insistent voice, and again Legolas halted. His heart was torn, but he could not throw off a lifetime of obedience to the wizard.

As Legolas watched, unable to assist, he saw Gandalf raise his staff and bring it down hard upon the bridge. He could not see what good that would do, but Gandalf seemed sure of himself, for the Istar did not retreat. The Balrog had cracked its whip and taken another step toward the Istar, drawing very near, it seemed to Legolas, when before the wondering eyes of the Fellowship, the bridge suddenly began to crumble beneath the feet of the beast. Chunks of stone plummeted into the abyss, and roaring in fury and amazement, the balrog followed.

His face etched with weariness but his foe seemingly vanquished, Gandalf turned and took one step toward the Fellowship. Suddenly Legolas saw a tendril of fire shooting up from the abyss, toward Gandalf. Before the Elf could utter a word, the Balrog's whip had curled about Gandalf's ankles, knocking the wizard off his feet and pulling him toward the broken edge of the bridge, to which the wizard clung with both hands.

His legs afire with pain, Legolas truly could not move, and the Elf looked helplessly upon the figure of his friend and mentor as Gandalf dangled at the abyss's verge. "Fly, you fools!" the wizard cried. His breath blew aside the strands of hair that had fallen across his face, and with clarity Legolas saw the Istar's composed expression. Simultaneously, Legolas felt Gandalf relax his grip. The wizard slipped from view as gently as if he were drifting off to sleep.

Behind him, Legolas heard Frodo cry out in horror, but he himself made no sound. Boromir seized the frantic Hobbit and dragged him toward safety. With one last look toward the remains of the bridge, Legolas turned about and with Gimli began to usher the remaining Halflings away from danger. Aragorn lingered a few seconds more, but at Boromir's urgent shout, he, too, turned and departed, arrows clattering on the stones behind him as he did so. Aghast and bewildered, they ran onward, toward the Western-gate. A few Orcs still remained in their path, at the very gate itself, but in their grief and rage they brushed these foes aside as if they were as insubstantial as gnats.

Once outside, a weeping Pippin threw himself on the hard rocks outside Moria as Merry tried to comfort him. Boromir clutched at Gimli, who raged at the loss of the wizard with whom he had sparred ever since they had left Rivendell. A stunned Frodo wandered aimlessly across the harsh landscape. Aragorn, suddenly thrust into the leadership of a diminished Fellowship, tried to control his heaving emotions by cleaning his sword of the Orc blood that stained it. As for Legolas, his face smudged with dirt, soot, and blood, he stood dazed, his face a mask of incredulity and bewilderment, his eyes unable to take in the scene before him, his mind unable to comprehend it.

"He is dead," he kept repeating to himself in disbelief. "He is dead. No, that can't be so. He can't be dead! Not our Gandalf. That could never be. No, it can't be true. No!"

Aragorn's voice broke through his grief and confusion.

"Get them up, Legolas!"

Mechanically, Legolas turned and moved toward the nearest member of the Fellowship. "This is what Gandalf would want," he reminded himself. "He would want us to go on. We must. If we go on, his story will not end. His story will _not_ end. He _cannot_ die if we do not yield to despair!"

Legolas' ears had heard Aragorn's words, and his limbs had obeyed, but his mind was struggling. And his heart? It seemed to have been cast into a maelstrom of numbness and pain, the one sensation succeeding the other in rapid succession. Was this grief? Or was he himself dying? Is this what Men meant when they said that one could die of a broken heart?

"Legolas! Gimli! Get them up!"

The Elf continued moving toward the nearest Halfling—Sam he thought it was. It didn't matter, though. Whoever he was, he was a member of the Fellowship, and it was necessary that he be helped to his feet. For a moment Legolas wondered how he himself managed to keep his feet, but he pushed the thought away. It was needful that he be on his feet, and so he was.

Aragorn wanted them to make for Lothlórien at speed, and numbly his companions obeyed. The Ranger was their only guide now. Gandalf had always meant for Aragorn to be the undisputed leader some day. Had the Istar known that by dying he would achieve his wish?

Gandalf. Legolas had known him first as Mithrandir, had called him so for centuries. But Gandalf was the name that wizard had lately insisted upon. It was the name his belovéd Hobbits had always called him.

"Gandalf," whispered Legolas. "Gandalf." He wanted to hold onto the name, as if by doing so he could keep the wizard from slipping away forever.

His legs pumped up and down mechanically as he ran, and he stumbled over a tussock. He was surprised that he had stumbled, and then he was surprised that he was surprised. So he was still alive.

When he had stumbled, the Dwarf had put out his hand to steady him. Not a bad sort, really, that Dwarf. Brave, doughty, and unselfish. Stank of pipe weed, of course, but so had Gandalf, and Legolas had never held that against him. Why should he hold that against the Dwarf? No reason really.

Legolas stumbled again. "Aragorn!" bellowed Gimli.

The line stopped, and Aragorn came back. He looked anxiously at Legolas.

"Mellon-nîn, are you well?"

"I am an Elf, Aragorn. Of course I am well."

"That does not follow, Legolas."

"I am well enough, Aragorn. And even if I were not, what would it matter? We must make Lothlórien before nightfall. I would die before I would stand between the Fellowship and safety."

"I was afraid you would say that," said Aragorn, with an expression between a smile and a grimace. "But remember this: you are a part of this Fellowship. The goal is to get _you_ safely to Lothlórien along with everyone else. I have a small vial of miruvor. Drink it."

Legolas began to protest.

"Drink it," Aragorn said gently. "It is necessary that you drink it. You do understand that—necessary?"

Legolas took the vial and sipped from it.

"All of it, Legolas. It is such a small quantity that anything less than all will do you little good."

Legolas drained the vial.

"Thank you, mellon-nîn," Aragorn said.

Legolas nodded. The Fellowship resumed its race for Lothlórien. Legolas did not stumble again.


	9. Chapter 9: The Voices of the Trees

**Thanks to the following reviewers: _Fortune Zyne_, _Theo Darkstar, Krissy Wonder, K'lara7, _and_ Windwraith_. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_**

**Chapter 9: The Voices of the Trees**

As they passed through the outskirts of Lothlórien, Legolas began to hear it. To the others, even to Aragorn, it sounded like the rustling of the breeze through the leaves. But Legolas knew better.

"I am sorry," whispered a tree gently. "I am sorry," breathed another. Legolas bowed his head in acknowledgement of their kindness. Gimli looked at him anxiously, and Legolas tried to smile reassuringly.

"It is all right, my friend. I am merely exchanging greetings with some old acquaintances."

The first statement Gimli found more disconcerting than the second.

"Friend?" thought the Dwarf. "He has never called me _that_. He's even more addled than I feared!"

The Fellowship pressed on into the woods of Lothlórien. As they walked, Legolas told them of the forest, caressing the trunks of trees, calling out the names of his old friends. So comforted was Legolas by the presence of these green companions that the Elf may be forgiven for not sensing the nearness of other living creatures. Or perhaps, in his current state, he was incapable of distinguishing one sentient being from another. Legolas laid hold of a branch and began to swing himself into the heart of one of the trees. "Daro!" a voice suddenly commanded from within the branches above. Legolas released his hold upon the limb and dropped lightly back upon the ground, as he did warning his companions not to move. From all around them materialized a company of Elves, each with a bow trained upon a member of the Fellowship. Their leader sauntered forward. "The Dwarf breathes so loudly, we could have shot him in the dark," drawled this Elf, nodding toward Gimli.

"Haldir," Legolas said urgently, "this is no time for jesting. We are being pursued by Orcs."

"Which you would bring down upon us, seemingly," one of the Lórien archers said icily in the Sindarin tongue shared by all Elves. Haldir held up his hand and silenced him.

"The guardians will dispense with these Orcs," he said to the archer, likewise speaking in Sindarin. He turned again to Legolas and continued speaking in the elven tongue. "Mellon-nîn, you may go on to Caras Galadhon if, as I deem, that is your wish. Most of your companions may go forward with you, all save the Nauga, of course."

Gimli knew only a few words of elvish, but he guessed at Haldir's meaning. His face reddened. "So much for the legendary courtesy of the Elves," he growled. "Speak words we can all understand!"

"We have not had dealings with the Dwarfs since the Dark Days," Haldir replied, speaking a passable if stilted dialect of the Common Speech. March Warden though he was, Haldir had few occasions for speaking the tongue used by all in the West on occasions when trade or diplomacy brought together the different races.

If Gimli had been a wolf, his hackles would have risen. As he was not, he had to settle for snarling out his reply. "And you know what this Dwarf says to _that_?" he spat before launching into a few choice dwarven phrases.

While Gimli knew few words of elvish, Haldir knew even fewer of dwarvish. But the Elf was no more in the dark as to the Dwarf's meaning than the Dwarf had been as to the Elf's. Haldir's hands tightened about bow. Aragorn intervened swiftly. He stepped a little between Elf and Dwarf and clapped his hand none too gently upon Gimli's shoulder. "That was not so courteous," he said sharply. Then he looked apologetically toward Haldir, shrugging a little as if to show his helplessness in the face of one of the famously thick-necked Naugrim. Mollified, Haldir relaxed his grip and went aside to listen to the Ranger's case for permitting the entire Fellowship to go forward. At length, uncertain how to proceed, Haldir agreed to dispatch a messenger to Caras Galadhon to seek guidance in the matter.

As Haldir and Aragorn debated, Legolas stood a little to one aside and for the first time allowed himself to think at length of his loss. He rehearsed in his mind all the long years of his friendship with Gandalf, starting from the time when the wizard had found him wandering in the woods of Imladris. How kind Gandalf had been from that very first day! Gruff, yes, but invariably careful that his gruffness never be mistaken for disdain.

"I gave him so much grief over the years," Legolas mused to himself, "and yet he never lost patience—well, never lost patience for _long_, anyway."

That first day of their acquaintance Gandalf had lured the skittish elfling down from a tree by placing a bowl of stew at the base of its trunk and then retiring several paces so that the young one would feel the less threatened. For Legolas was chary of the strange being, with his peculiar garb and enormous beard and his odd smoky smell, but so hungry was the lost elfling that at last he could not resist the bait of what he feared might be a trap. But it had after all been anything but a trap—unless kindness be considered as such. After the elfling had eaten, the wizard had blown smoke figures for his amusement before offering him a blanket and a place by the fire. In the morning Gandalf had fed the young one breakfast before taking him up before him on his horse and conveying him to the safety of Rivendell. From that day forth the elfling had idolized the wizard, striving always to please and emulate him. Several times Legolas had even run away from Imladris in order to follow 'his' wizard into the wild. Of course, Gandalf had always safely seen Legolas back to Rivendell, for although the wizard returned the elfling's love, he knew that he was not a fit guardian for a youngling.

"I have no proper home," he had reminded Legolas on one occasion when the elfling was importuning him.

"I don't have a proper home, neither," Legolas had said, putting on the most pathetic expression he could muster.

"Oh, yes, you do," retorted Gandalf. "Your home is here, in Rivendell. Don't you dare try to tell me that Elrond hasn't been taking good care of you!"

"But Elrond is not my _real_ father," Legolas said mournfully.

"Oh, and is he a sort of artifice, then—a parental metaphor, perhaps?"

"Met him for what?" asked Legolas, puzzled.

"I see," said Gandalf gravely, so that he might suppress his smile, "that in your lessons you have not yet addressed the topic of tropes. Do not neglect the subject! I should not like you to fall before the assault of Synecdoche or the malice of Metaphrasis. Indeed, I am now quite convinced that you should not accompany me! For I'll warrant you've never even heard of a Zeugma—nor Onomatopoeia, neither!"

Legolas had stared open-mouthed at the wizard. The young one knew of Orcs, Wargs, Trolls, and Dragons, but it was true that he was unacquainted with Synecdoche and Metaphrasis, as well as Zeugma and Onomatopoeia. He had never suspected that the world could be filled with such a multitude of perilous creatures!

"Are there any others?" he asked timidly.

"Oh, yes," Gandalf assured him. "Dozens—maybe hundreds, depending upon how you classify them. And I have not even mentioned the schemes!"

"The schemes?"

"Aye, the schemes. Why, there is Chiasmus—you don't want to cross Chiasmus, I tell you! Syncope is not something you wish to overlook, neither. And there's Metaplasmus—need I spell _that_ out for you?"

"Will I encounter all of these?" the awestruck elfling whispered.

"Oh, I do not know if you will encounter each and every one," Gandalf replied, "but the ones you do come upon, you ought to try to master."

Legolas promised devoutly that he would do his best, and the wizard was miles away before the elfling learned that these fearsome figures were in fact figures of speech.

Legolas' thoughts were interrupted by the voice of Gimli, but so gentle was that voice that at first Legolas did not know who it was who had spoken. Confused, he turned toward the sound and found himself looking into the Dwarf's eyes. They were, he saw for the first times, eyes of great depth and kindness. The skin around them was swollen, however, as if the Dwarf had been weeping.

"For all you look so young," Gimli said shyly, "you have known Gandalf a very long time, haven't you?"

"Yes," said Legolas. "I have known him since I was an elfling, a young one even in the eyes of my own people."

"Although likely you would have already been old in the eyes of mine."

"Yes, I believe that is so."

"I cannot say that I knew him well before this journey. He came to my land but infrequently and never stayed long. Then, too, I was always busying myself in the forge, and he didn't linger there! Still, I honored him for the sake of my father, who knew him of old."

"Your father was one of the companions of Bilbo Baggins, is that not so?"

"Yes. Alas! How I wish that journey had never taken place! Better never to have meddled with Smaug's treasure, for look what was unleashed!"

The Dwarf uttered these words with great vehemence, and Legolas understood that, although Gimli had not known Gandalf long, it had been time enough for him to have grown fond of the old wizard.

"If Bilbo had not found the Ring," the Elf said softly, "then someone else would have—and it is altogether likely that the Ring would be in worse hands now. I think Gandalf was glad that Bilbo found it."

"Would he have been glad had he known that the finding of the Ring would lead to his death?"

Legolas replied without hesitation. "Yes, if he thought that he could safeguard his companions by sacrificing his body."

Gimli looked keenly at the Elf.

"Sacrificing his body, eh? Curious way of putting it. You speak as if he's not altogether gone."

"In some sense, he is not."

"That's some consolation. I should rather have him in the here and now, though."

Legolas considered.

"In my memory," he said slowly, "he seems very close."

The Elf suddenly smiled. Forgetting that he was talking to a Dwarf, he began to tell Gimli the story of how Gandalf had frightened him with his talk of fearsome sounding creatures.

When Gandalf had returned months later, Legolas explained to Gimli, the elfling had avenged himself upon the wizard by following him about and flinging alliterative insults at him. Gandalf was the 'wily, wicked wizard' and the 'horrible, hairy human' and the 'malicious, malevolent magician'.

When the Gandalf protested, Legolas reminded the wizard that he had told the elfling to master as many schemes and tropes as he could.

"You cannot fairly find fault," he had teased Gandalf, "if I proudly and prominently practice pronouncing similar-sounding syllables."

Gandalf had drawn himself up to his full height and rapped his staff upon the ground.

"Very well," he intoned. "I shall have to engage in a little alliteration of my own. May moonbeams muddle your memory. Let lizards lie upon your limbs. Set snakes slithering upon your shins. Permit porcupines to pepper your—"

"I gave such a shriek," laughed Legolas, "for I at once thought of a body part commencing with 'p'.

Gimli joined Legolas in chuckling. "A part peppered by a porcupine, eh! Alliteration! We Dwarfs put quite a bit of that sort of thing in our tales, too. There's one I remember my Da telling me. Went something like this: 'From misty moors the murderous monster menaced mortals. / Affrighted fowls fluttered, fearful folk fled. / But blood besplattered bold breasts and brave brows'."

"The story went on and on in that fashion," continued the Dwarf. "The monster showed up every night. Most folk would run off; those that didn't were torn apart. Very gory tale. We were supposed to admire the ones who hung about and were dismembered. I do remember thinking, though, that the sensible folk were the ones who took to their heels. It's all very well to fight to the death if you have no other option. At least you may achieve an honorable end in that fashion. But if you are not forced to the wall, then it seems to me that slipping off to fight another day might be the better choice. After all, if you are alive, there is still a chance that someday you may defeat your enemy. I hope you don't think me a coward for saying so," the Dwarf added hastily.

"I do not," replied Legolas. "You speak as an Elf would. If life must be hazarded, then let it be done so with good reason. If I am alone and come across the tracks of many Orcs, I do not challenge them! I slip away and return with a superior force. No one thinks such behavior shameful."

Gimli tried to decide how he ought to feel about the fact that his reasoning powers had been compared favorably with those of an Elf. He knew that Legolas had meant it as a compliment; still, it seemed to the Dwarf that Legolas' words must inevitably imply that it was better to think like an Elf—ergo, to think like a Dwarf was _not_ so admirable. After puzzling over this for awhile, Gimli decided that the important thing was that Legolas had intended his words as a compliment. 'We Dwarves are practical', Gimli said to himself. 'Elves may quibble over words, but _we_ don't. Perhaps the Elf could have stated things a little better, but he intended no insult.'

Proud of both his magnanimity and his logic, Gimli bestowed a beatific smile upon Legolas before rolling up in his blanket and promptly commencing to snore. Legolas sat and watched him for awhile, shaking his head at the peculiar nature of Dwarves.

'He talks like an Elf one minute', he said to himself, 'but snores like a Troll the next. Then, too, he smokes like a Hobbit and stinks at least as badly as a Man. Strange folk, these Naugrim. But not, I think, as unlikable as I once believed'.

With that, Legolas rolled up in his own blanket, and lying back to back with Gimli, he joined the Dwarf in sleep.


	10. Chapter 10: Sacrifices

**Thanks to the following reviewers: _Redleef, Joee, K'lara, Enigma Jade, Krissy Wonder, Fortune Zyne, Windwraith, and Opalkitty_. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_**

**With quotations from both the movie and book versions of LOTR.**

**Chapter 10: Sacrifices**

By the time Legolas and Gimli were roused by the other members of the Fellowship, Aragorn and Haldir had come to an understanding. Word had not come back from Caras Galadhon, but the March Warden on his own authority would permit the Fellowship to go forward. Haldir insisted, however, that Gimli be blindfolded so that the Dwarf might not descry any of the secret paths of Lothlórien. Finding himself singled out in this fashion, Gimli was of no mind to permit an Elf to bind his eyes.

"I will not walk blindfold, like a beggar or a prisoner," he protested. "And I am no spy. My folk have never had dealings with any of the servants of the Enemy. Neither have we done harm to the Elves. I am no more likely to betray you than Legolas, or any other of my companions."

This was a long speech for Gimli, and a passionate one, and Legolas found himself sympathizing with the Dwarf. Haldir, too, had to privately admit that there was justice in Gimli's words. Still, the March Warden refused to give way, for he would not take any step that might jeopardize his people, no matter however slight the danger might appear. He had been charged with the defense of the border. If fulfilling that charge meant that he must risk committing an injustice against a Dwarf, so be it.

Matters were thus at an impasse until Aragorn hit upon a solution: let all the Companions go forth hooded with strips of Lórien green. Upon hearing this suggestion, Legolas at once abandoned all sympathy for the Dwarf and objected violently to the notion that he, one of the Eldar, ought to be blindfolded. "I am an Elf and a kinsman here!" he exclaimed angrily.

The other members of the Fellowship had been chiding Gimli for his stubbornness; now it was Legolas' turn to be rebuked for being unwilling to compromise for the sake of the Fellowship. Grumbling, sounding rather more like a Dwarf than an Elf, Legolas was at last forced to yield, and the Lórien Elves set about blindfolding each and every member of the Fellowship. Haldir offered an apology as he drew the cloth over Legolas' face. "I am sorry, mellon-nîn. I hope you can forgive me."

"Do not be troubled," Legolas replied instantly, for he had at once grown contrite at hearing the distress in the March Warden's voice. "Let us pretend that we are elflings again and playing once more at Blind Man's Bluff."

"Thank you, Legolas," Haldir said gratefully.

Overhearing them, Gimli harrumphed. "That is all very well for Legolas, but what about me?"

"Did you never play Blind Man's Bluff, Gimli?" Legolas asked.

"Well, yes, I did," Gimli conceded, "although in my neck of the woods it was called Blind Troll's Bluff."

"Then you may consider yourself to be part of this game, my friend."

Mollified, Gimli allowed an Elf to lead him forward. As he walked, unable to see anything, in his mind's eye visions did arise of his days of playing Blind Troll's Bluff and other such games. Under his blindfold, the Dwarf began to smile. Sensing Gimli's change of mood, Legolas began to smile as well. When at last word arrived that the blindfolds might be removed, Elf and Dwarf grinned at each other when the cloths were pulled from their faces.

Legolas' cheeriness did not last long, however. As he walked, he cast his eyes upon places that he had visited in the company of Gandalf, and melancholy began its slow creep into his heart.

"That tree there," he murmured to himself, "we made camp under it when last I accompanied him here from Rivendell. And that hollow log by the stump, I hid his pipe within it until he threatened to turn me from a prince into a frog, as in the tales of Men."

Legolas smiled a little at that memory, but there more wistfulness than humor in his expression.

As he walked on, he remembered words that Gandalf had spoken in Moria. The Elf had momentarily wished to abandon the Quest so that he might track Gollum and avenge the deaths of the Mirkwood Elves who had been guarding the wretched creature. "Do not fail me!" Gandalf had begged Legolas. He told the Elf that he had need of him. "The Fellowship," Gandalf had said, "may face darker paths even that this one, and you must not be distracted from your purpose." Now, as Legolas marched toward Caras Galadhon in company with the other survivors of Moria, he reflected upon the truth of Gandalf's words.

"You were right, my friend," he said to himself sadly, "that we would face a darker path—but you did not tell me it would be so well illuminated. I think henceforth I shall always fear the Flame more than the Shadow. The Shadow is naught but darkness visible—and I do not fear the dark! But the Flame—the Flame, it devours. One may emerge from the Shadow, but not, I think, from the Flame."

Legolas felt the sting of salt in his eyes. 'I cannot cry', he reminded himself mournfully.

As the Elf strove to suppress his emotions, he felt an unaccustomed chill, and he shivered. Sensing his distress, the trees lifted up their branches and allowed free passage to the light and warmth of the sun. Gratefully, Legolas felt some of the tenseness leaching out of his muscles, and his heart ached a little less. It seemed as if the sun were able to penetrate the very core of his being.

"That fiery star is an orb of far greater power than any other," the Elf mused to himself. "Gandalf spoke of a lidless eye ringed with fire, but if the sun were placed beside that vaunted eye, it would prove to be insignificant, its pride dwarfed by the magnificence of the king of the heavenly lights."

As Legolas walked on, he continued to think on this matter.

"It is true," he said to himself, "that the Flame can devour, but it can also purify, and with it may be forged objects of strength and beauty—some dangerous and evil, like the Ring, but the greater part fair and of great virtue. Indeed, any tool that is to be serviceable must first be tempered by being returned repeatedly to the fire. A sword that was not passed through the Flame would be of little worth. No warrior would trust it."

Legolas heard a little whimper and looked down. Like Legolas, Pippin was doing his best to suppress his tears, but with much less success than the Elf.

"You fought well in Balin's tomb," the Elf said to the young Perian.

Pippin shook his head.

"Even if I did, there would have been no battle in the first place if it hadn't been for my foolishness."

The young Halfling could restrain himself no longer.

"It's my fault!" he cried. "It's my fault! If I hadn't been such an oaf, Gandalf never would have fallen. Our presence in Moria would have gone undiscovered but for my foolishness."

"No, you are wrong," Legolas said calmly. "Our presence was known from the moment we entered at the western gate. I realize now that we would never have been allowed to depart unassailed."

"You are just saying that to cheer me up," said Pippin morosely.

"I am saying that to cheer you up, yes, but I am also speaking the truth. We were being trailed. I knew it from the outset, and Gandalf knew it as well. You may be sure that he was not altogether surprised at the attack. I know Aragorn was not. He feared that Gandalf would fall if we entered Moria."

"And yet Gandalf went on nonetheless," marveled Pippin.

"It was his duty," Legolas said simply.

"His duty," whispered Pippin. He squared his shoulders and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. Legolas looked at the small but courageous figure.

'No', Legolas thought to himself. 'No, it is not at all true that nothing can emerge from the Flame'.

He took Pippin's hand and the two walked on, each comforted by the other.

Once the Fellowship and its escorts arrived in Caras Galadhon, they made straight for its center, the great mallorn tree in which dwelt the Lord Celeborn and Galadriel, Lady of Light. When they reached its base, the Companions began the long climb toward a platform which rested high above.

Legolas and Aragorn knew what to expect when they reached that talan, but the others did not, and even Boromir could not hide his amazement and wonder as a shimmering haze drew near them. Within were cloaked the graceful forms of the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien, and at last the silvery mist parted a little so that the Companions might gaze upon their host and hostess.

Celeborn spoke first.

"Eight there are here, yet nine there were set out from Rivendell," he intoned. "Tell me, where is Gandalf, for I much desire to speak with him. I can no longer see him from afar."

Galadriel looked upon the faces of Legolas and Aragorn, and her eyes pierced deep into both their hearts and their minds. Gravely she spoke.

"Gandalf the Grey did not pass the borders of this land. He has fallen into Shadow."

Legolas felt the grief pour back into his heart, and when he spoke it was with a bitterness seldom heard in the voice of an Elf.

"He was taken by both Shadow and Flame—a Balrog of Morgoth. For we went needlessly into the net of Moria."

Gimli stood by Legolas' side, and as the Elf spoke, he felt the Dwarf's misery at the mention of Moria. The Mirkwood Prince instantly regretted his words, and gratefully he welcomed Galadriel's rebuke of his intemperate speech.

"Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life," the Lady said softly but firmly. "We do not yet know his full purpose."

In spite of the Lady's words, Gimli remained glum and downcast, and Galadriel addressed him directly.

"Do not let the great emptiness of Khazad-dûm fill your heart, Gimli son of Glóin," she encouraged the Dwarf. "For the world has grown full of peril, and in all lands love is now mingled with grief."

In his sorrow and shame, Gimli had been afraid to lift his eyes and look upon the Lady. Now, in wonder, he raised his head and found her smiling gently upon him. At once he understood that the words he had heard of the Great Sorceress of the Golden Wood had been true. Anyone who looked upon her would fall under her spell. For surely he, Gimli, stoutest of the Naugrim, was now captivated by the Lady before him. But this was a captivity he had no desire to escape, nor ever would.

Galadriel now cast her eyes upon the faces of the remaining members of the Fellowship. Legolas thought that her gaze lingered for a moment upon the visage of Boromir, who flushed, his eyes slanting sideways, as if he were loath to meet the Lady's gaze. Legolas wondered at his unease, but said nothing. As Galadriel finished her scrutiny of the Company, Celeborn addressed them once again.

"What now becomes of this Fellowship? Without Gandalf, all is lost."

These words must weigh heavily upon Aragorn, Legolas knew, and the Elf felt, rather than saw, the furrowing of the Ranger's visage. Galadriel, however, did not leave the Fellowship bereft of hope.

"The quest stands upon the edge of a knife," she declaimed. "Stray but a little and it will fail, to the ruin of all." Here she glanced yet again upon the face of Boromir. "Yet hope remains," she continued, "while the Company is true." With those words she gazed upon Sam, who met her eyes without flinching.

The audience was now at an end, and Galadriel dismissed them. "Do not let your hearts be troubled," she urged them in parting. "Go now and rest, for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight you shall rest in peace."

'Peace? thought Legolas. 'In safety, yes, but in peace?'

Legolas joined the others as they were led toward the glade in which they would take their rest. All about them music arose, the melodies both sad and beautiful. The Hobbits and the Dwarf, as well as the Man of the South, felt as if they were walking in a dream. Even Aragorn and Legolas moved as if they were in a daze. Wordlessly, the Companions set about making beds out of the furs and coverlets that had been provided for them by their hosts. Legolas finished first, and he picked up one of the vessels that had been set out for their use and went to fetch water from a nearby spring. The Elf hoped that by keeping busy he could fend off his grief, but the music would not let him forget. As he returned with the water, his Companions overheard the Elf murmuring to himself. "A lament for Gandalf," the Sinda said so softly that he almost whispered.

"What do they say about him?" asked Merry.

"I have not the heart to tell you," the Elf answered, his voice still pitched low. "For me the grief is still too near."

"I bet they don't mention his fireworks," Sam said sadly. "There should be a verse about them." The Hobbit rose to his feet, his face determined, and to the surprise of all, he began to recite.

"The finest rockets ever seen/ they burst in stars of blue and green. / Or after thunder, silver showers / came falling like a rain of flowers."

"Oh," he muttered, hanging his head, "that doesn't do them justice by a long road."

Sighing, Sam threw himself upon his pallet. Gimli was already slumbering, and in spite of Sam's grief, the Hobbit, too, was quickly asleep, his exhaustion overpowered by sorrow. The other Hobbits soon followed Sam and Gimli's example. In a little while only the Men and the Elf remained awake. Boromir had drawn a little apart from the others, and Legolas saw Aragorn join him. The two spoke earnestly together. Unnoticed, Legolas took the opportunity to slip away and seek out a tree in which to take refuge. Once ensconced in its boughs, however, he was chagrined to discover that his old companion could not assuage his sorrow. For it was not only grief that Legolas now felt. Something perhaps worse assailed him: a deep sense of shame. Legolas could not stop himself from again and again reliving Gandalf's final moments on the bridge of Khazad-dûm and blaming himself for what had happened. "Was there nothing I could have done to save my friend?" he whispered miserably. Why, he asked himself, had he not run back toward the wizard. 'I have trained at arms since youth', he thought to himself, 'and yet I did nothing to help one of my fellows. I do not deserve to be called Prince of Mirkwood! I do not even deserve to be called a warrior!'

Legolas had not felt such grief and shame since the campaign for Dol Guldur, when the young Elf had served under the command of a captain named Taurmeldir. His company had escaped unscathed from several of the skirmishes fought before the Fortress of the Necromancer, but then one of the engagements had gone badly. Little by little, their enemies had been overwhelming them. Some Elves lay dead, hacked by scimitars or slashed by ravening teeth. Others were wounded but had remained on their feet. "Fall back," Taurmeldir had at last shouted. The warriors obeyed, pressed on three sides by Orcs and wargs. Taurmeldir waited until the last of the Elves had retreated past his position; then he fell in as the rear guard. Step by step he slowly gave ground, forcing his foes to pay dearly for every inch they took. Anomen looked back as he drew close to the relative safety of another company of Elves. "I think Taurmeldir is going to be cut off!" he had cried to another Elf. The two began to run toward their captain, but Taurmeldir, glancing over his shoulder to see if his warriors were nearing safety, saw them coming. "Retreat," he commanded urgently. "I order you to retreat." As he shouted, he parried a thrust from one of his foes, and then a tree blocked the young Elves from any further view of the battle.

After their foes were at last beaten back in a counterattack, Anomen and other anxious warriors headed back toward where their captain had last been seen. When they did not find him immediately, they spread out and began to methodically comb the forest.

It was Anomen who found him. He removed his cloak and tenderly placed it over his captain before he called to the others. They hastened over and bowed their heads in grief when they saw that Anomen had covered Taurmeldir's face. Only one hand lay outside the cloak. In it, he still clutched his sword, blackened with the blood of Orcs and Wargs.

The next morning, Anomen had been detailed to serve as a runner for the day, and one of his errands took him to the tent of his mentor, Glorfindel the balrog slayer. After the young Elf had delivered his message, Glorfindel gestured for him to sit on a camp chair.

"You are no doubt feeling great sorrow over the death of your captain."

Anomen nodded.

"Taurmeldir had the greatest of respect for you, Anomen."

"And I failed him!" Anomen burst out in grief and shame.

"Why do you say so?"

"Glorfindel, Thoron and I saw that Taurmeldir was in trouble. We started to go toward his aid, but Taurmeldir ordered us to continue our retreat. Glorfindel, if we had gone back to help Taurmeldir, he wouldn't have died."

Glorfindel replied calmly, "Had you and Thoron returned to his side, Taurmeldir would have died nonetheless. Worse, his death would have been all the more bitter for his friends because you would have rendered his sacrifice meaningless. Taurmeldir was not one to throw away his life without cause. He knew that the situation was such that only through death could he guarantee the safety of his warriors. But to that end, he saw that only his death was necessary. And so he forbade you from aiding him because he did not want you to die needlessly. You must respect his judgment in this matter, as he always respected yours."

"I thank you for your words, Glorfindel, but they do not lift my grief."

"They were not intended to lift your grief, Anomen. For why should you not grieve? No, it is the burden of shame that you should not feel compelled to carry. Your captain gave you an order. You obeyed it, and by doing so you secured for Taurmeldir one final victory over his foes."

"Thank you for your words, Glorfindel. I think—I think I can bear the grief now, but the shame would have been too heavy for me."

Legolas thought of Glorfindel's words now as he once more relived Gandalf's fall. Why had he obeyed Gandalf and not run to his aid? The answer was hard to accept yet simple to comprehend. By trying to help Gandalf, he would have betrayed Gandalf. The wizard could have held on longer—of that Legolas was certain, for he knew what strength was hidden within the body of the old man. True, the Istar could not have pulled himself unaided back onto the bridge, but he could have continued clinging to the edge far longer than he had. Instead, Gandalf had let go after commanding his companions to take flight because he knew any attempt to rescue him would prove fatal to the one who came to his aid. As soon as the balrog had toppled into the abyss, the Orcs, too fearful of the beast to approach whilst it still stood upon the bridge, had begun swarming into the cavernous chamber. Anyone running back toward Gandalf would have perished, his body pierced by countless arrows, and Gandalf would have died all the same. Then, with two Companions lost, the plight of the Fellowship would have been all the worse. Gandalf's final gesture, his last gift to the Fellowship, would have been squandered, just as Taurmeldir's final actions would have been for naught had a young Elf died in a fruitless effort to save the captain.

Taurmeldir had sacrificed himself. So, too, had Gandalf sacrificed himself, and many times over—by entering Moria in the first place, by confronting the balrog, by allowing himself to fall into the chasm instead of struggling to keep his grip.

The shame Legolas felt began to slip away. His grief, however, began to deepen. The Elf had loved and respected the wizard since that day in the forest in Rivendell when Gandalf had rescued the lost elfling. Legolas would not have thought it possible for that love and respect to have been stronger than it had been during Gandalf's life. Now, however, as he contemplated the goodness and unselfishness of Gandalf's final deed, he cherished the Istar all the more. Yes, his shame had diminished, but his grief had grown all the greater.


	11. Chapter 11: Seeing the Light

**Thanks to the following reviewers: _Krissy_ _Wonder, Windwraith, Fortune Zyne, Elfinabottle, Aya-Shoru, Enigma Jade_, and _K'lara7_. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**Beta reader: _Dragonfly_, who saved me from inadvertently creating a new character, Eagerly the Dwarf!**

**Chapter 11: Seeing the Light**

When dawn came, Legolas climbed down from his tree. Trudging—an unusual gait for an Elf—he made his way back to the glade and his companions. When he arrived, Gimli was packing the bowl of his first pipe of the day. To the surprise of all, including Gimli, Legolas crossed over to the Dwarf and plunked himself down by his side.

Surprise deepened to amazement when Legolas remained by the side of the Dwarf the entire day—and the next day as well. Indeed, throughout the Fellowship's stay in Lothlórien, Legolas was rarely found far from Gimli's side. At first their comrades in the Fellowship thought that the Elf was accompanying the Dwarf out of a sense of obligation, as a way of making up for the suspicious welcome the Dwarf had received at the hands of Legolas' kinsmen. Soon, however, it became apparent that Legolas found Gimli to be a comfort, and that the Dwarf was, if anything, humoring the Elf with his presence rather than the other way around.

"I think it's the pipe weed," Merry opined one day.

"The pipe weed?" said Pippin.

"Aye. Haven't you noticed? Whenever Gimli lights his pipe, Legolas instantly draws near."

"True," agreed Sam. "Was a time Legolas would have fled at the sight of Gimli lighting his pipe. Now he takes deep breaths, as if he found the aroma fair."

"I do believe Merry is right," said Frodo thoughtfully. "Far from being bothered by the smell of pipe weed, Legolas seems to be attracted to it. I wonder—do you think it may remind him of Gandalf?"

"Of course," exclaimed Sam, "and as Gimli smokes more than anyone else in the Fellowship, it stands to reason that Legolas would spend more time with him than anyone else. Why, he has been spending more time with Gimli than with Aragorn, even."

"There is a good reason for that," smirked Pippin. "Anyone standing downwind of Aragorn gets a whiff of much more than pipe weed."

"That's not fair," protested Frodo. "Aragorn has been well-trimmed and well-clad since our arrival in Lothlórien."

This was true. Aragorn had been spending many hours in the company of the Lord and the Lady, and whilst in their company he always assumed the gracious manners and garb of the Elves. This was only natural. Frodo, well-taught by Bilbo during the time spent in Rivendell, knew that Aragorn bore in his veins the blood of the Eldar and that both he and Arwen could trace their ancestry to Eärendil the Mariner, whose ship could be seen each evening as it floated through the heavens.

"Do you know," observed Sam, breaking into Frodo's thoughts, "I think Mr. Frodo is right. Aragorn has been smoking a great deal less than formerly, I am sure. He spends so much time with the high folk of this land, and I can't see him lighting up a pipe in the presence of the Lady."

Merry and Pippin giggled at the thought of Aragorn stretching out his long legs and puffing familiarly in the presence of the elegant Sorceress of the Golden Wood.

"And I think Mr. Frodo is right about Legolas, too," Sam continued. "He takes comfort from our Gimli in some fashion. Maybe it's the pipe weed; maybe it's something else. Whatever it is, I'm glad. Do you remember Legolas' face when we came out of Moria?"

Everyone fell silent. The grief of all the members of the Fellowship had been great, but not so great that anyone failed to notice the expression on the Elf's face, a heart-breaking mixture of the dazed and the distraught. Even Frodo had noticed at the last, and he was in a bad way himself, for, save Aragorn and Legolas, that Hobbit had been closer to Gandalf than anyone else in the Fellowship.

Legolas' friends were correct: the Elf did take comfort from the Dwarf. There was no simple explanation for this fact. Yes, it was in part the familiar smell of pipe weed that drew Legolas toward the Dwarf. And partly it was the fact that Legolas was trying to honor Gandalf's long-cherished wish that the Elf and Dwarf be friends. More than that, though, it had occurred to Legolas that there must be something very special about Gimli. If not, Gandalf would have been mistaken with regard to the Nauga, and Legolas in his current mood was not about to consider the possibility that his friend could have been so wrong. Legolas therefore set about looking for what it was about the Dwarf that the wizard found so admirable. It did not take him long to find the answer. In his mind Legolas rehearsed every step of the journey from Rivendell to Lothlórien, and looking through Gandalf's eyes, the Elf saw that at every turn Gimli's behavior had been praiseworthy. Legolas could remember a thousand thoughtful gestures, many of which had been directed at the Elf himself. In his mind he also again saw the doughty Dwarf swinging his axe against their foes in Moria, leaping forward with a growl into wherever the skirmish was thickest. Whether in battle or in the quieter moments in camp, Gimli had looked out for his fellows. No, Gandalf had not been wrong. Gimli was indeed an admirable personage, and Legolas was truly sorry he had never been willing to admit that fact.

This was not to say that Legolas found Gimli to be without flaw. Even Gandalf would have admitted that Gimli had certain traits that were far from commendable. The Dwarf could be irascible and stubborn, and he could be blunt-spoken to the point of rudeness. But so, too, Gandalf had been irascible, stubborn, and blunt, and Legolas, with his new-found wisdom, was in no way inclined to hold these qualities against the Dwarf. If they were not endearing, they were nonetheless forgivable.

So Legolas was in earnest when he invited Gimli to accompany him throughout Lothlórien. With the Dwarf by his side, the Elf set about revisiting his favorite spots in the Golden Wood and reacquainting himself with his friends and comrades-in-arms. Elf and Dwarf were soon inseparable, and the Dwarf's presence in no way interfered with Legolas' reunions with his elven kin. In fact, Gimli soon proved to be a great favorite with the Lórien Elves, especially the younger ones. Gimli was a great raconteur, and Elves love listening to stories. It did not matter that Gimli always seemed to be the hero of his own tales. Elves love amusing stories as well as rousing ones, and in Gimli's tales they found a delightful combination of both the epic and the comic. Looking on, Legolas could not help but smile at the effect his newfound friend had upon the graceful Elves of Lothlórien.

But even Gimli could not altogether assuage Legolas' suffering at the loss of his beloved wizard. Whenever they passed a spot that reminded Legolas of Gandalf, the Elf, no matter how cheery he had been a moment earlier, would fall silent. Drifting in his memories, he would be heedless of the words of the Dwarf who walked by his side. One day, frustrated at his inability to rouse the Elf from his stupor, Gimli was tempted to take him by the shoulders and shake him until his perfect elven teeth chattered. The Dwarf looked about for a stump he could stand on in order to put his plan into effect. Fortunately he was prevented from acting upon his rash impulse, for at that moment Galadriel happened to come upon them. Gimli had of course noticed that she was in the habit of appearing at just the right moment—rather like Gandalf in that regard, the Dwarf thought to himself. Now she gently raised her hand. "Peace, Gimli," she said softly. "Would you spare Legolas a little while? I would speak with him."

"I, I would deny you nothing, Lady," replied Gimli, trying to be gallant but stammering a little. Galadriel smiled and then gestured for Legolas to follow her. To the Elf's surprise, she led him to her Glade. He knew that she had taken Frodo there and granted him a vision, but Frodo was the Ringbearer. Why would Legolas deserve a vision?

"And why would you not?" asked Galadriel, having, as usual, divined what was in his thoughts. "Like Frodo, you have suffered much."

Nodding silently, Legolas stepped up to the plinth as Galadriel poured water into the basin that stood upon it. For a long time, he saw nothing. Then he saw motion at one edge of the vessel. As he watched, a tiny ripple resolved itself into a grey-clad figure astride a great white horse. Horse and rider galloped into the center of the scene, and the figure raised a staff. From its end shot a flame that seemed to leap up from the mirror itself and envelop Legolas in warmth and light. The figure galloped on and disappeared at the other side of the basin. Bewildered, the young Elf stepped back from the plinth.

"What did you see?" asked Galadriel softly.

"It is not alone what I saw; it is what I felt," Legolas replied.

The Lady smiled.

"Well, then, Legolas Thranduilion, what did you feel?"

"Warmth, my Lady, a warmth more comforting than any I have ever known. I felt as if it encircled me with the gentleness of a parent embracing a child. It was a very different sort of flame than—formerly."

"A parent embracing a child. Such a gesture consoles and calms, does it not?"

"Yes, my Lady."

"And do you find yourself thus soothed?"

"Yes, my Lady. I am at peace. Although," Legolas added wonderingly, "I do not know why I should be. Vision or no vision, Gandalf is still dead."

"Legolas, doubtless Gandalf the Grey has fallen into a great chasm. Yet the darkness of that chasm cannot consume the light of the world. You know this to be true, for you have walked beneath the Greater Orb and felt its warmth. Know this as well: it is not only the Sun that will be a source of warmth and illumination for you and your Companions. You have set out upon a shadowed path, but you and your comrades will kindle such a light as shall drive back the darkness."

Legolas nodded thoughtfully. An image of Gimli arose in his mind. 'Odd', he thought, 'I never noticed that when the light hits him just so, his beard looks rather like the red sun of dawn—aglow with the promise of the day to come'.

He looked at Galadriel, who was smiling knowingly at him. She spoke on.

"Remember, too, Legolas, that sometimes your path will be illuminated by sources of light unlooked for."

Legolas smiled back at her. She had already been proved right. But then she probably knew that. He bowed slightly, as if he thought the audience were at an end, and turned to leave the Glade. Her voice stopped him.

"Legolas, one more thing you must remember. Gandalf's light has not altogether gone out. No, his was a flame eternal, and his a virtue that no mere balrog could extinguish."

As she spoke, her own flame seemed to grow stronger, casting a warm glow throughout the glade. The last trace of the shadow fled Legolas' heart. It would be false to say that he no longer felt sorrow; despair, however, never again threatened to darken his breast. Gladly he left the glade, and he smiled whole-heartedly upon Gimli when he rejoined the Dwarf. The Nauga put down his pipe and stared at him.

"Lad, be ye ill?"

"No, Gimli. Why do you ask?"

"Well, you, you are—glowing. Yes, that's it, glowing. As if a fire were kindled within you. Might it be the flush of a fever?"

Wonderingly, Legolas put his hand to his face. It felt cool to his touch, but he could not deny that his body was suffused with warmth. Hitherto, Legolas had not been much given to glowing, and he wondered if Galadriel had gifted him with some of her power.

"Lie down, lad," fussed Gimli. "I'll fetch you some water."

"I am quite well, Gimli."

"Nay, nay! I insist."

The Dwarf laid firm hold of the Elf's waist and pushed him onto a patch of soft moss. Legolas was too surprised to be offended, and he sank back upon his 'bed' thinking that perhaps Gimli was the one coming down with something.

Truth be told, Gimli had come to cherish the Elf's company as much as Legolas cherished the Dwarf's. In Lothlórien Gimli found himself surrounded by Elves, a situation that could have been most distressing. Legolas, however, had saved him from feeling lonely and unwelcome. For the sake of the Sindarin Prince, wherever they went in the Golden Wood, all the Elves they encountered treated the Dwarf with deference and kindness. Gimli had always felt a modicum of grudging respect for the Elf; to this feeling was now added gratitude. From gratitude the Dwarf progressed to affection. It is true that Gimli would never have deigned to utter the word, but affection it was. Each sojourner, in his own loneliness, had discovered sympathy for his fellow, and before either knew what was happening, Dwarf was looking out for Elf, Elf for Dwarf. It would be going a bit far to say that Gimli totally understood what it was to walk a mile in Legolas' shoes, or that Legolas entirely knew what it was to walk in Gimli's boots. Still, their misery and loneliness had made them comrades, for commiseration is a powerful force for friendship.

But now, however, it appeared to Gimli that 'his' Elf was falling ill. That wouldn't do at all! So for the remainder of the day, Gimli hovered over Legolas and stubbornly insisted on nursing him. At one point, convinced that Legolas was not eating enough, the Dwarf even tried to spoon some broth into the Elf's mouth. As luck would have it, Haldir and his brothers were passing by at that moment. Only their astonishment kept them from laughing at the sight of a Dwarf tenderly nursing an Elf. And not just any Elf, either, but a warrior and the Prince of Mirkwood to boot.

"I think he's sick," explained Gimli to the Lothlórien brothers. "Look at his face. Don't you think it flushed?"

Legolas' face was now undeniably a bright red, but only because he was blushing with embarrassment. He glared at the Lórien brothers, and they wisely retreated, but he heard them giggling as they went. Something had to be done before all of Lothlórien was chortling at his expense. "Gimli," Legolas said slyly, "do you think you could fetch me some miruvor. My kinsmen would give you some if you asked, and I think it would be just the thing."

Dwarf hurried off at once. In his eagerness to help his friend, he would have been willing even to scramble high into a mallorn tree if that is what it took to secure a vial of the precious potion. Fortunately, that would not be necessary, as the first Elf Gimli met gladly agreed to fetch the elixir. The Elf hastened toward Galadriel's flet. When he reached the base of the great mallorn in which the Lady dwelled, the messenger found Galadriel waiting, enigmatic smile on face, vial of miruvor in hand.

Meanwhile, as soon as Gimli was out of sight, Legolas had leaped to his feet and run to a nearby spring. Hastily, he stripped off his tunic and bathed his face and arms in the spring, spluttering a little because even the Elves found these waters frigid. Having finished bathing, Legolas pulled his clothes back on and returned to the patch of moss. He lay with his face to a tree, so that Gimli might not see it. As soon as the Dwarf returned, Legolas sat up and accepted the proffered cup, still keeping his face turned away from his friend. As soon as he had swallowed the potion, however, he looked directly at the Dwarf.

"Gimli, after drinking that miruvor, I feel much better."

Gimli studied his face.

"Hmmm, you don't look as flushed as formerly. Perhaps you _are_ on the mend."

"Oh, I think I am," Legolas assured him. "In fact, I am hungry, and I have always heard Men say that the onset of hunger is a sign of recovery. It is time for the evening meal. Let us hasten to rejoin our companions. Tonight is our last night in Lothlórien, and we should be with the Fellowship, for I am sure that Aragorn will wish us to take counsel together."

"If you are sure you are up to it, lad."

"Yes, Gimli, I am."

"Remarkable stuff, that miruvor," muttered Gimli, who did not look altogether convinced. But Legolas again assured the Dwarf that he was well enough to move about and to dine on something more substantial than broth. At last Gimli yielded, and Legolas arose and strode beside the Dwarf as they made their way back to the glade where their comrades awaited them. As they walked, the sun was westering, its rays falling aslant through breaks in the foliage. It was the gloaming, that twilight time when the light plays tricks upon the eye. That must be why anyone gazing upon the two friends would have sworn that they were enveloped in light. For a golden haze seemed to emanate from the Elf, and a warm red one from the Dwarf. But a trick of the light—yes, surely a trick of the light must have accounted for that ethereal glow.


	12. Chapter 12: Gifts

**Thanks to the following reviewers: _Opal Kitty,_ _Krissy_ _Wonder, Windwraith, Fortune Zyne, Elfinabottle, Enigma Jade_, and _K'lara7_. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**Beta reader: _Dragonfly_,**

**Chapter 12: Gifts**

In short order, Legolas and Gimli reached the glade that the Galadhrim had given over to the use of the Fellowship. There they found their comrades already partaking of the evening meal.

"You had better sit down straightaway and tuck in," called Frodo. "A few more minutes, and Merry and Pippin will have left you nothing but the bones."

"Why, cousin Frodo," objected Pippin, "you are the one holding a drumstick in each hand. _I_ have only got the one."

It was true that Frodo clutched not one but two pheasant legs. If Pippin did not, however, it was only because _his_ second hand was occupied with a wheaten loaf and he was alternating bites of pheasant with bites of bread.

There had of course been no real danger that Legolas and Gimli would go hungry. The Lothlórien Elves had been very generous, as they had been throughout the Fellowship's stay in their land, and there was food and to spare. This was fortunate, for Legolas found to his surprise that he did indeed have an appetite, and he 'tucked in' with a voracity rarely seen in an Elf.

"Hey," called Merry, pretending to be aggrieved as Legolas snagged a morsel that the Perian had coveted, "I had my eye on that apple."

"You may have had your eye on it, Master Hobbit," replied Legolas, grinning, "but _I_ have got my teeth in it. You can't devour anything with your eyes, at least not literally!"

Samwise, sitting near, thought that he heard Legolas give a belch at the end of that sentence, but surely he was mistaken.

"Must have been the Dwarf," the Hobbit muttered to himself.

As Legolas had expected, after the meal the members of the Fellowship gathered round the dying campfire and discussed their next move. Aragorn told them that the Galadhrim would provide them with boats.

"We will paddle south down the Anduin." He nodded toward the Hobbits. "It will save our small friends many a weary step. Aye, and it will be harder to track us on the river."

Boromir's eyes glittered.

"The Anduin. Good! That river will take us to the very gates of Minas Tirith."

"I have no errand in Minas Tirith," Frodo pointed out. "It is my charge to take the Ring to the lands of the, well, the lands of the Dark Lord," he finished in a rush.

"That is true," Boromir said quickly, "but Mordor abuts the realm of Gondor. Indeed, from the walls of Minas Tirith a Man may sometimes see the glow of Mount Orodruin itself. It is not so far! You will lose nothing by bringing the Ring to Minas Tirith."

"Nothing but time," growled Gimli unexpectedly, "and from what I heard at Elrond's Council, we haven't got a lot of that."

Legolas smiled gratefully at the Dwarf. It was good to know that Aragorn could count on his support as well as the Elf's. The Ranger spoke now.

"Sauron will expect us to head for Minas Tirith. The way will be held against us. Moreover, even if we were to make the City, how would we get out again? And Gimli is right: we can tarry in no land, not even the land of the White Tree."

"Why not tarry in the land of Gondor when that land has the strength to resist Sauron?" challenged Boromir.

"There is no force of arms in Middle-earth that can resist Sauron forever," Legolas interjected. "Neither Elves, Dwarves, nor Men have that power. No, even were all three peoples to fight as one, it would only suffice to fend off Sauron for a little while."

"I did not speak of force of arms alone," Boromir replied softly. His eyes glinted as they had that day on the flanks of Caradhras when he had briefly had the One Ring within his grasp.

"Boromir," Aragorn said sternly, "the Council has deemed that there is no one who may safely wield the Ring. Our only surety lies with its destruction."

"There are members of the Council who believe that _they_ may not safely wield the Ring," Boromir shot back, "and no one is forcing _them_ to wield it. But they do not speak for all."

"I don't know about Men," huffed Gimli, "but when we Dwarves hold a council, the idea is that each constituency has its representative. So a council _does_ speak for all."

Legolas stared at Gimli. Constituency? It was not a word he had expected to hear on the tongue of a Dwarf. The Naugrim led a life of far greater sophistication than he had assumed, seemingly. Of course, the Elf reminded himself, he should have known that from the moment he saw the towering and ornate columns of Dwarrowdelf marching off into reaches unseen.

"That's the way it is with Hobbits, too," exclaimed Merry, breaking Legolas' chain of thought. "In Buckland, anyway," the Halfling added. "We don't have a council very often, but when we do, everybody goes by its decision, even if it's not to their liking. Not much sense in having councils, anyway, if people are going to ignore 'em."

"Yes," chimed in Frodo. "It would defeat the purpose if everyone did as he pleased regardless of the outcome of an assembly. Merry is right: Why then hold a council in the first place?"

"We must all hang together, or most assuredly we shall all hang separately," Sam suddenly said from the spot behind Frodo where he had been quietly sitting. Everyone turned and stared at him.

"Where did you hear that?" asked Pippin.

"Don't know," mumbled Sam, blushing. "Probably someone said it one evening in the Green Dragon over his cups."

Boromir snorted.

"Where ever those words were spoken," declared Frodo defiantly, "and whoever spoke them, they make sense. We have got to stick together—we and all Free Folk. And that means abiding by the judgment of the Council. I don't want to go to Mordor any more than the next person, but that is what the Council has asked me to do."

"And if you are going, so am I," vowed Sam.

Boromir's eyes no longer glittered. Instead, they were of a darkness that shifted and roiled, like the ashes of a newly tamped fire that still smoldered. But when the Man spoke, his voice was free of anger or passion.

"The Ringbearer wishes to go south," he said evenly, "and I will accompany him."

Legolas felt uneasy. _The Ringbearer wishes to go south, and I will accompany him_. South led to Mordor, yes, but it also led to Minas Tirith. The Man's words were equivocal, and Legolas did not think Boromir had abandoned his desire to bring Frodo—and the Ring—to the chief city of Gondor. The Elf exchanged a quick glance with Aragorn. He could see that the Ranger, too, was uneasy.

Still, for the moment their own council was at an end, and the Fellowship retired to their pallets. Pippin, however, was restless, for he was wistful at the thought of leaving the sanctuary that was Lothlórien. At last, unable to sleep, he timidly asked Boromir if he wouldn't tell his story about Gandalf. At first Boromir did not wish to, but Pippin and the other Hobbits looked at him so hopefully that he relented.

"Now he's gone, it seems rather a disrespectful story," he warned them. "Do not be angry with me once I have told it!"

"We won't," the Hobbits promised.

"As you know," Boromir began, "it was hard to separate Gandalf from his pipe."

Nods all around.

"He even smoked his pipe in the library of Minas Tirith, which was filled with loose papers and bits of parchment, any one of which, if set alight, could have kindled a conflagration. Now I have it on my brother's authority—Faramir was forever dogging Gandalf's steps—that one day the inevitable happened: a spark from Gandalf's pipe set a sheaf of papers burning. Trying to be helpful, Faramir seized Gandalf's goblet of wine and dashed it upon the fire, but the wine was of a rather strong vintage, and attempting to douse the flames with it actually worsened matters. My brother made for the door, meaning to fetch a bucket of water. Of course, by the time he would have returned, no doubt it would have been too late to save the library. However, Gandalf, thinking quickly, pulled out his, well, he pulled out his—his tool! Yes, his tool, and he doused the flames. Said he to young Faramir, 'No need to fetch water when it is to hand'."

Howling with laughter, four Hobbits rolled on the moss beneath the mellyrn of Lothlórien. Elves walking nearby stopped and looked upon them with astonishment.

"When it is to hand," gasped Sam, tears in his eyes. "Oh, that is Gandalf all over!"

"Funny!" shouted Merry.

"Punny!" screamed Pippin.

"Nothing could discountenance that old rascal," giggled Frodo.

"Nothing," agreed all the others.

"There was never an occasion when he was daunted or dismayed," observed Sam, in a burst of eloquence.

"Indeed," agreed Boromir, a rare grin spreading o'er his face, "I am certain that before the end, Gandalf made things very hot for that Balrog."

"Oh, yes," agreed Frodo. "I'm sure that the creature rued the day that he decided to take on Gandalf the Grey."

"But now Gandalf is no more," said Pippin mournfully, his sorrow suddenly reasserting itself.

"That's not true," said Sam stoutly. "Legolas has told me Gandalf cannot die as long as we tell our stories about him. If we forget about him, he's gone for good. Well, I for one don't mean to forget about him!"

He turned to Frodo.

"Do you remember how he kept banging his head on the ceiling beams? You would have thought that he would learn eventually, but he never did!"

"True," laughed Frodo, "and do you remember how he simply wouldn't bend to fit into the bed in the guest chamber, so that he always slept with his feet sticking off the end? Wore his boots to bed on several especially cold nights, he did!"

Soon everyone was cheerfully telling wizard tales. Funny Gandalf. Kind Gandalf. Stubborn Gandalf. Wise Gandalf. Brave Gandalf. They told stories throughout the evening, until midnight drew near and they reluctantly lay down to rest a little in order to be ready to depart at dawn.

"Odd. It _does_ feel as if Gandalf were still with us," said Pippin as he rubbed at his sleepy eyes. His companions all nodded.

"You are right, Legolas," yawned Sam. "I don't believe we have lost Gandalf after all!"

The next morning, the Companions arose and made their way down to a landing where three boats awaited them. Uneasily, Sam joined Frodo as passenger in a boat to be paddled by Aragorn. Equally uneasy, Gimli plunked himself into the bottom of Legolas' boat. Merry and Pippin, both of whom had some experience with watercraft, cheerfully settled themselves in the third boat, under the charge of Boromir. Elves pushed them into the current, and the two Men and the Elf began to guide the small vessels south. They had not gone far, however, when they descried a flotilla of boats approaching them. Galadriel and Celeborn had come to farewell them.

The Fellowship and their hosts drew their boats upon a bank and broke bread together. When they had finished their repast, Galadriel beckoned to several Elves, who drew near holding gifts in their arms. One by one, each member of the Fellowship stood to receive a token at the hand of Galadriel. To Aragorn she gave a scabbard decorated with the devices of Gondor. Boromir pretended not to notice and graciously accepted the belt that the Lady proffered him. To Merry and Pippin she likewise gave beautiful yet sturdy belts, to which they promptly fastened the scabbards that held the Man-size knives that served them as swords. Next she gestured to Legolas.

"My Lady," Legolas said softly, "you have already given me so much. I deserve no more at your hands."

"A gift is not given because one _deserves_ it," replied Galadriel, smiling, "else it would be no gift. Nay, Legolas Thranduilion, I offer you this out of the love I bear for you and your people."

From one of her companions she took a long object and held it up so that the dappled light of the glade fell upon it. It was a bow such as the Galadhrim carried, longer and stouter than the bows of Mirkwood. Legolas took it in his hands and admired its design and the carving upon it. It was a thing of both beauty and utility.

"Thank you, my Lady," Legolas said gratefully.

Galadriel smiled and inclined her head and then turned to the remaining members of the Fellowship. These were three: Frodo, Sam, and Gimli. Suddenly Legolas realized that only two gifts remained, one a small crystal vial and the other a tiny wooden box. The Elf grew worried. Was it possible that Galadriel had overlooked one of the Fellowship? If that were the case, Legolas prayed that it was not Gimli. If Frodo received nothing at this leave-taking, he would assume that this was because he had earlier been vouchsafed a vision in Galadriel's mirror and could expect nothing further. As for Sam, such was the gardener's humility that he would look for nothing at the hands of the Elves and would therefore not be hurt if _nothing_ were indeed forthcoming. But Gimli, well, that was another matter altogether. It was not that the Dwarf's pride would cause him to feel slighted and angry if he received nothing. No, it was that the Dwarf had, it can be said, fallen in love with the Lady. It was no improper love, of course, not a love made up of lustful imaginings. Rather it was a worshipful regard that left the Dwarf eager for the Lady's good wishes. If Gimli received nothing from her, he would take it as a mark of disfavor, and his spirit would be crushed. Was it possible that the Lady did not perceive this? Legolas waited in agony as Galadriel gave the little wooden box to Sam. He could not bear the thought that his friend was about to be hurt.

He need not have feared. Galadriel turned from Sam to Gimli. Smiling, she asked him what gift he would have at the hands of the Elves. Abashed, he looked down and mumbled into his beard. Legolas strained to hear what he said, but even his elven hearing did not allow him to fully catch the Dwarf's words. But whatever Gimli said, it found favor, for Galadriel laughed, her merriment falling like a spring rain into the hearts of all who stood near. She bent down and spoke softly to the Nauga. She reached into her hair and passed something into his hand. Then she straightened up and turned her attention to Frodo, gifting him both with words of wisdom and encouragement and with the crystal vial, wherein was captured the light of the star of Eärendil the Mariner.

A short while later, as the Fellowship paddled down the Anduin, Gimli sighed from where he sat crouched in the bottom of the boat he and Legolas shared. "I have taken the worst wound of this parting," the Nauga murmured wistfully, "for I have looked my last upon that which is fairest. Henceforth I will call nothing fair unless it be her gift to me."

"What was it?" asked Legolas.

"I asked her for one hair from her golden head. She gave me three."

Gimli lapsed into a pensive silence. Behind him, Legolas smiled with a mixture of amusement and affection. Gimli, he decided, was himself a gift to all the Fellowship. 'But especially to me', he thought. 'Now I understand why Gandalf wanted us to be friends'.

'Hannon le, Gandalf. Hebithon ant lîn na guren pán," the Elf breathed to himself. 'Thank you, Gandalf. I shall treasure your gift with all my heart'.


	13. Chapter 13: A Hirsute Halt

**Thanks to the following reviewers: _Opal Kitty,_ _Windwraith, Fortune Zyne, Enigma Jade_, _Christy, _and _Lynn_. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This interlude was inspired by two incidents. During their training in boat-handling, Orlando Bloom and John Rhys-Davies ended up in the drink. Orlando claims that his fellow actor threw off their balance. The second incident occurred during actual filming. This time Orlando and Brett Beattie, Rhys-Davies' size double, were the ones who took an unscheduled swim.**

**In spite of the graveness of the situation that Legolas and his fellows find himself in, on some occasions the Prince of Greenwood is still the mischievous elfling. But danger looms!**

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly, who even took time over a holiday weekend to look over the story. Thanks! That's going way beyond the call of duty.**

**Chapter 13: A Hirsute (But Happy and Hopefully Harmless) Halt**

Much care weighed upon Aragorn, for with the loss of Gandalf the other members of the Fellowship—save Boromir, perhaps—looked to him for guidance and encouragement. During their stay in Lothlórien, the Ranger was much preoccupied with this fact, and several times he had expressed to Celeborn and Galadriel his fear that he would not be able to fulfill the expectations of his comrades. Still, even though he spent much time musing upon the matter, he, like the other members of the Fellowship, had not failed to notice the growing friendship between Legolas and Gimli. Their prickly alliance amused him—and he had need of amusement. So it was that at the end of their first day out from Lothlórien the Dúnadan allowed himself to relax slightly after the evening meal and to twit Gimli a little bit.

"Master Dwarf," he called, "you have got more water upon you than upon the dishes. Pray, tell me, are you striving to emulate our fastidious Elf by seizing upon skivvy duty as an opportunity to bathe?"

Gimli looked up with a scowl from the river bank where, tunic pushed up to the elbows, he was helping Sam scour the dishes.

"And where _is_ that pointy-eared princeling?" he growled. "Why isn't _he_ washing dishes?"

"He it was who espied the deer that we feasted upon this e'en," replied Aragorn. "His quick eyes have earned him respite from the evening chores."

In truth, Legolas was never called upon for chores, either morning or evening. He was the eyes and ears of the Fellowship, and even now he was somewhere in the woods thereabouts, this time scouting for danger rather than deer. Gimli understood this, and the Dwarf's seeming resentment was mere pretense.

The Elf in question chose this moment to return to camp. "Aragorn," he announced, "no foes are near enough to strike us this night. Although," he added, lowering his voice so that only the Ranger might hear, "I sense the distant stirring of evil. Soon the pursuit will quicken."

Aragorn nodded his understanding, but said nothing.

"As there is no cause for immediate alarm," Legolas continued, "I am going to bathe."

Aragorn's raised eyebrows would have impressed the Master of Rivendell. "Legolas! You can't be planning to bathe in the Anduin! Its icy waters would chill even one of your race."

"Not so, Aragorn. Whilst I was scouting, I came upon a calm pool well-warmed by the sun. It is just beyond that sandbar."

Aragorn looked to where Legolas pointed and nodded.

"Very well, Legolas. I will send someone to fetch you when it is time to set the watch."

As the moon arose, Aragorn at last decided that he would turn in. Gimli was still awake, having spent the last hour smoking companionably with the Ranger, and Aragorn asked him to summon the Elf to take the place of the Ranger.

"You need only follow the shore around that bend," he said, pointing south. The Dwarf ambled off agreeably and soon came across Legolas lazing comfortably in his pool. For Elves, bathing is as much a form of recreation as a matter of cleanliness.

"All right, Elf," harrumphed the Dwarf, "you had better come out of there lest you dissolve into a prince of a puddle."

Legolas pretended to take offense, but he left the pool immediately and bent to pick up his tunic and leggings. When the Elf straightened, Gimli looked him up and down curiously.

"So it's true then, what folks say. The only hair on an Elf is the hair on his head."

"Gimli!" Legolas protested indignantly. He dropped his garments and leaped back into the pool, where he crouched low, his arms crossed in front of his body. Gimli guffawed. "Modest, are we?" he chortled as he turned to saunter back to camp. "What the—" he spluttered as he was suddenly yanked backward by his tunic. In a trice he found himself sprawled in water much too cold to his liking—although, actually, there was no temperature of water that would have been to his liking. Forlorn, the Dwarf watched as Legolas leaped from the pool, scooped up his garments, and disappeared into the forest.

A little while later, Legolas, dry, clad, his hair neatly braided, strolled into camp. Aragorn looked at him quizzically. "Where is Gimli? I sent him to summon you back to camp. Did he not find you?"

"Aye, he did, Aragorn."

"And?"

"He is at this moment bathing both himself and his clothes."

Legolas was keeping his face straight, and Aragorn tried to do the same. Without comment, he went to Gimli's pack, retrieved his blanket, and disappeared in the direction of the pool.

When Aragorn arrived at the riverine pond, Gimli was sitting morosely on the bank, sodden garments plastered to his skin. "Your clothes would dry the faster," called Aragorn, proffering the blanket, "if they were laid out by the fire."

Gimli grunted assent and arose. He shook his beard as a dog shakes its body and began to peel off his clothes. Aragorn, who had pretty much guessed what had transpired between Elf and Dwarf, could mask his amusement no longer. He made a show of looking over the discomfited Dwarf. "So it's true then, what folks say," he said solemnly. "The only hairless spot on a Dwarf is—"

"Aragorn!" bellowed Gimli so loudly that, back at the camp, Legolas heard him and smirked.

A little while later, Gimli, wrapped in a blanket, stalked into camp, followed at a safe distance by Aragorn. Legolas had discreetly taken up his watch in the tree line, out of sight of the irate Dwarf, who threw himself down by the fire, pulled his blanket tightly about himself, and set about the business of falling asleep. Being a Dwarf, and therefore practical in the extreme, he succeeded in doing so in spite of the state of exasperation that he found himself in. Meanwhile, Aragorn stuck several sticks in the soil and over them draped Gimli's sodden clothes. Then the Ranger, too, rolled himself in his blanket and turned in—on the other side of the fire from Gimli, it must be noted.

As dawn neared, Legolas slipped back into the camp and roused Gimli—carefully, of course. "Gimli," he whispered, giving the Nauga a tentative poke. "Gimli, the Halflings will soon be awake." He gave the Dwarf another poke. "Gimli, you may want to dress yourself before they are up and about."

"Mwph," mumbled the Dwarf, but he had heard Legolas, and he had no desire to be peppered with the questions of curious Hobbits. Groaning and clutching his blanket to his chest, he sat up. Legolas retrieved the Dwarf's garments and handed them to him.

"They are a bit damp," he said apologetically. "Do you have any spares in your pack?"

"I'm a Dwarf, not an Elf," harrumphed Gimli. "I don't stuff my pack with garments on the offhand chance that I may get a grass stain on one of 'em."

"Perhaps," suggested Legolas, "you could set aside your surcoat for the time being and garb yourself in your tunic alone. 'Twill allow the both of them to dry more quickly."

Gimli nodded and did as Legolas suggested, pulling on only his leggings and tunic. Then, shivering a little, he donned his cloak. He had been gifted it by the Elves of Lothlórien, as had each member of the Fellowship. No sooner had he draped himself in the garment, than he began to feel warm. "Elven magic," he muttered appreciatively in spite of his irritation at Legolas.

While Gimli dressed, said Elf carried the Dwarf's wet surcoat to the boat they shared and tucked it in the bow, out of sight. Next he folded his own blanket and laid it on the bottom of the boat at the spot where Gimli was accustomed to sit. Then the Elf removed his boots and waded into the water, feeling about for mussels. He remembered that Gimli had once said that Dwarves liked freshwater shellfish but rarely were able to lay their hands on the delicacy, living as they did in mountainous terrain.

By this time, the Hobbits were up and about. "Strider," Pippin was exclaiming, "was the camp visited by a wolf last night?" Merry, Pippin, and Sam looked about with wide, frightened eyes.

"A wolf?" Aragorn said, puzzled. "What makes you say that?"

"Because," explained Pippin, "I smell the odor of wet dog, and as there aren't any dogs hereabouts, I thought perhaps it might have been a wet wolf instead. They look very much like dogs, after all."

Just then the Hobbits heard a growl and turned swiftly and fearfully in the direction of the sound. All they saw, however, was an irate Gimli looking very fierce, his 'hackles having risen', so to speak. Fortunately, before the Hobbits could indulge their curiosity, they were distracted by the arrival of Legolas, his arms laden with mussels. Merry and Pippin shouted in delight and raced toward him. Laughing, he fended them off. "Find your own," he mock scolded the two youngest Hobbits as he wrapped the shellfish in damp leaves and placed them in the coals to steam. Merry and Pippin raced off and soon returned with their own armfuls of mussels, handing them off to Sam, who obligingly prepared them in the same fashion as Legolas had. Soon the entire Fellowship was gathered happily around the fire, gorging on shellfish and regaling one another with tales of feasts in other times and other places. Even Boromir was heard to laugh, and Aragorn's furrowed brow smoothed. As for Gimli, speaking so that only Legolas could hear, he allowed as how he was mollified by the Elf's offering.

"I wasn't in need of a bath, princeling, I hope you know, but I'm willing to overlook matters, seeing as how you have furnished such fine grub."

"That is very noble of you, Gimli," Legolas replied graciously. He arose to begin lading their boat, for the sun was now high in the east, and he knew Aragorn would soon call a halt to their impromptu feast.

While Legolas was busy at the boats, Aragorn smiled innocently and struck up a conversation with Gimli.

"How do you find sharing a boat with Legolas?"

"If I had my druthers I wouldn't be sharing a boat with anyone."

"You would paddle on your own?"

No! no! no! I mean that I would rather not be in a boat at all! But if I _must_ be afloat in a tiny vessel that rocks back and forth, I suppose it is just as well that it be paddled by someone who is skilled at the task."

"As Legolas is."

"Yes, there is no denying that boat-handling is one of his virtues."

"One? Has he any others?"

Gimli considered. "We-ell," he said at last, "he is uncanny accurate with that bow of his, and he wields those knives faster than a Dwarf can spin gold. Then, too, he sings well and has a rare gift at story-telling. And he is not bad looking either—for an Elf. Pity he is as furless as a naked mole rat. Put a little hair on him and he'd be right comely."

At this last statement, Aragorn choked. Alarmed, Gimli pounded him on the back. "What's the matter, human? What's the matter?"

"Swallowed a mussel whole," gasped the Ranger.

"Hmph!" snorted Gimli. "And folk say that _Dwarves_ be gluttonous!"

Aragorn smiled weakly and got unsteadily to his feet. "Let us go down to the boats now, Gimli. We have lingered overlong in this place."

In short order, all the members of the Fellowship were once again afloat upon the Anduin. At first, the going was easy, as it had been the day before, but the further south they went, the swifter the waters ran. Moreover, they encountered the first of the many rapids that they would have to run. Soon they had passed through three of these stretches of tumultuous whitewater. Although none were so bad that they had to portage, the pitching and slewing of the boats badly troubled some of their occupants. Gimli in particular was distressed by the buffeting. "A few more of these shakes, rattles, and rolls," moaned the Dwarf, "and I am going to be returning these mussels to the river."

Just at that moment, Legolas drove the boat hard to the right to avoid a jagged rock. Gimli retched and threw himself toward the gunnel. "Gimli!" shouted Legolas, but his warning could not prevent the unfolding disaster. For all the Dwarf was short, he was stout of limb, and the weight of his muscular torso, when combined with his armor and weaponry, was enough to unbalance the boat. Legolas could do nothing but dive clear as the vessel rolled over.

When the Elf surfaced, Gimli was nowhere to be seen, and Legolas took a quick breath and again submerged himself. Fortunately, the waters of the Anduin were as clear as the crystal of Eärendil, and Legolas soon located his friend at the bottom of the river, which was not deep at this point. Also fortunately, Gimli's heaviest weapon, his great broad-axe, was lashed to the side of the boat, so in spite of the weight of the Dwarf and his remaining armor, Legolas was able to haul his friend to the surface. Another stroke of good fortune: theirs had been the lead boat, and the other two boats quickly came abreast. Gimli was pushed and pulled into Boromir's vessel, and Legolas climbed into Aragorn's. Swiftly they drove the two boats to shore, and all save Aragorn and Legolas disembarked. Leaving Boromir and Gimli to look after the Hobbits, Ranger and Elf paddled down the river, looking not only for the swamped boat but for Legolas' bow, which had not been lashed down, for the Elf had wished to keep it to hand in case they were assailed from the shore.

Hours later, the two paddled back up the Anduin, Aragorn in one boat, Legolas in the other. As they beached at the landing where they had left the others, Legolas saw that Gimli, wrapped in a blanket borrowed from Sam, was waiting anxiously. Some of the tension went out of the Dwarf's body when he saw Legolas pick up his bow as he stepped from his vessel. The Dwarf rushed forward pell-mell.

"Oh, laddie," he babbled, "I am so glad you did not lose that bow. I should be sorry to lose any of my weapons, but if I had one gifted me by the Lady of Lothlórien, I should be heartbroken to lose it! And to think I was nearly the cause of it! I am sure you would never, ever have forgiven me!"

Legolas laughed and held up his hand. "Peace, Gimli! True, I cherish this bow, but I cherish our friendship more. I am sure I should have found some clever way to pay you back for its loss—as I will pay you back for the dunking!—but I should have forgiven you."

"Ah," said Gimli, recovering his spirits, "but you may not pay me back for the dunking."

"Why ever not?"

"Because," said Gimli, his formerly smug self reasserting itself, "I was merely paying _you_ back for your having dunked _me_! We're even now, and so, unless you wish to commence an interminable water fight, you had better give over all thought of revenge!"

Now it was Aragorn's turn to laugh. "He is right, Legolas. Best leave matters as they are."

"Hah!" gloated Gimli. "I've had two years' worth of baths in two days, but it is worth it to see that look upon your face, Elf!"

Truly, Legolas did look stunned (perhaps at the notion of taking only two baths in two years!) but he recovered as quickly as Gimli had. All three now commenced to laugh, and they cheerfully strolled to the campfire, there to dine upon the tasty supper that Sam had kept warm for them.

'It is good to be among friends', Aragorn thought happily. Once again, for a brief time, the weight that lay upon his shoulders was lifted, and he sat with Legolas and Gimli and allowed himself to be comforted by their jests and stories.

Aragorn's ease would have been the less, however, had he known that someone who lay nearby rolled up in his blanket was only pretending to be sleeping. Instead, Boromir, Man of Gondor, stared at the three comrades with eyes empty of friendship.


	14. Chapter 14: Brothers?

**Thanks to the following reviewers: _Elfinabottle, Mirelenna, K'lara7, Krissy Wonder_, _Opal Kitty,_ _Windwraith, Fortune Zyne, _and _Enigma Jade_. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates part of the story "An Offer of Friendship."**

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly.**

**Chapter 14: Brothers?**

The further the Fellowship traveled, the more concerned Legolas became about the behavior of Boromir. The Man of the South had always been inclined to hold himself apart from the others; this aloofness grew as time passed. It was true that Boromir would sometimes vouchsafe his companions a grin, as he had when he had told his story of Gandalf's ingenious method of quenching the fire in the library of Minas Tirith. These occasions were, however, as brief as they were rare, and certainly they were not sufficient to allay the Elf's concern about a Man whom he had never fully trusted. Legolas had never forgotten that Boromir had belittled Aragorn at the Council of Elrond, derisively dismissing the Elf's foster-brother as a "mere Ranger" and scoffing at the suggestion that he owed fealty to the Dúnadan.

Legolas would have been the more distressed if he, like Galadriel, had been gifted with the ability to see into the minds of humans. Legolas was receptive to the minds of trees, horses, and birds, and he was good at 'reading' other minds, for he was a sharp observer of gestures and speech and from these he could deduce much. But to hear the very thoughts of a human, no, that was not something he could do. If he had possessed such a skill, his suspicions of Boromir would have been replaced by something akin to alarm.

Just now, however, the Elf took no notice of Boromir as the Man sat beside Pippin and Merry and stared across the fire at Aragorn and Legolas. Elf and Ranger were deep in conversation.

'We are nearer to my homeland than to the Elf's', the Man of Gondor was thinking resentfully. 'Why does Aragorn not ask _my_ opinion?'

At that moment the Elf must have said something that amused the Ranger, for Aragorn laughed softly, the lines of worry on his face momentarily vanishing. Boromir arose and strode away from the fire to be alone with his thoughts and his mounting anger.

His list of grievances was long, starting as it did in Rivendell at his first encounter with the Dúnadan. Aragorn had been reading a book in one of his preferred sanctuaries. This was the quiet chamber wherein were kept the shards of Narsil, the sword shattered by Sauron and destined to be reforged when the heir of Isildur arose to confront anew that Dark Lord. Boromir had spoken politely to the Ranger, addressing him as 'friend' and acknowledging their shared kinship as Men who had journeyed to Imladris on the same errand. But Aragorn had been reserved, studying Boromir carefully—'appraising me like a head of cattle', Boromir thought angrily. Uneasy at being perused so steadily and calmly, Boromir had spoken disparagingly of the broken sword when its edge had nicked his finger, and he had tossed it carelessly aside and stridden from the chamber as peremptorily as he now departed the campfire.

Their next encounter had gone no better. At the Council of Elrond, Boromir had proposed—and quite sensibly, too!—that the Free Folk strike at the enemy by wielding his very own weapon against him. Aragorn, this Ranger of decayed lineage, this, this _Strider_, had bluntly contradicted him. Indeed, the Dúnadan had not even troubled to find diplomatic words with which to cloak his disdainful dismissal of Boromir's counsel! And the Elf, he had leaped into the fray on Aragorn's behalf, insisting that Boromir owed fealty to a scruffy Man who had been wandering the wilds for the Gods knew how many years.

Once the Company of the Nine had set out from Rivendell, matters had not improved much. The Halflings were in worshipful awe of Aragorn, for it was he who had shepherded them to Rivendell in the face of great peril. (This latter Boromir had to grudgingly concede.) The Dwarf, for all his prickliness, could sometimes be found smoking companionably by the side of the Ranger. The Elf was of course forever exchanging comments with the Dúnadan in an elvish dialect that only they and the wizard could understand. And that wizard! He had deferred endlessly to the exiled scion of the Northern Kingdom, consulting him in all matters. Why he did not trouble to consult Boromir, who was the son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, latest in a long and distinguished line of rulers—yes, Boromir did not shy from the word 'ruler'!—this the Man from Minas Tirith could not understand.

There had been that one moment of understanding and respect, however. It had been brief, but Boromir treasured it. It had been in Moria, in Balin's tomb. A mighty foe, a Cave Troll, had flung Boromir against a wall, knocking him momentarily senseless. As the Man sprawled upon the floor in a daze, an Orc raised his weapon to hew his body. It was Aragorn who had saved him from his assailant. There had been no time for an elaborate exchange of thanks, but the glance and nod had been enough. From Aragorn, steadfastness towards a fellow-warrior whom he respected; from Boromir, gratitude—yes, gratitude and the first stirrings of loyalty towards one whom he might accept as a leader. How Boromir wished that there had been more moments like that!

Instead, envy had intruded once again. Gandalf fell into both darkness and fire, but before he did so it was Aragorn, not Boromir son of Denethor, in whose hands he placed the welfare of the Fellowship. And when the survivors of Moria had issued forth from that fatal place, it was Aragorn who at once assumed the mantle of leadership, calmly wiping the blood from his blade and ordering his fellows, however grief-stricken, to arise without delay and make for Lothlórien. Once in the land of that witch Galadriel, who could insinuate herself into one's mind, probing relentlessly, it was Aragorn who led in negotiating with the Elves, Aragorn who went aside to take counsel with the Lord and the Lady of that place.

It was in Lothlórien that Boromir had first heard the Voice. Aragorn had gone a little aside from the others and stood listening to the laments for Gandalf that were sung by Elves hidden somewhere within the great trees that surrounded them. Boromir covertly studied him. For a moment, Aragorn's face convulsed, and then the Dúnadan mastered himself, hiding the lines of grief that had briefly etched his face.

_If you had fallen, would he have lamented for you, as he does for Gandalf?_

Boromir startled and looked about to see who had spoken to him. He saw no one. Nevertheless, someone addressed him yet again.

_You know he would not._

"Aragorn knew Gandalf for many years," Boromir said aloud. "Of course he feels his loss more deeply than he would the loss of someone he barely knows."

Aragorn spun about. Wrapped in his memories of Gandalf, he had not known Boromir was there.

"What is it you say, Boromir?"

"I was saying," Boromir said smoothly, "that you knew Gandalf for many years. His loss must be hard for you to accept."

"That is true, Boromir," said Aragorn sadly, his emotions once more briefly breaking through. "Indeed, I do not think I accept it yet. I do not think I will ever accept it—or, at least, I do not think I will ever _believe_ it, no, not truly, not in my heart of hearts. But, come, let us return to the others."

Aragorn resumed his mask of leadership and strode back toward the Company. Reluctantly, Boromir followed him.

Now, on the banks of the Anduin, Boromir heard the voice again.

_You stand alone_.

"Of course I stand alone," Boromir said irritably. "You don't see anybody next to me, do you? What of it?"

_You stand alone_.

"I have left the campfire, and thus I am standing by myself. I will return to the campfire, and then I will no longer be alone. And there will be an end of it!"

With determination, Boromir turned his steps toward the camp. As he entered the clearing, he saw Sam anxiously hovering over Frodo, urging him to eat just a bit more to 'keep your strength up'. No doubt Sam had cooked up some dish that he knew to be one of his master's particular favorites.

_When is the last time anyone troubled himself to cook up a delicacy expressly for you?_

"Be still," Boromir muttered aloud. Everyone's attention was engaged, so no one noticed the slip-up. Merry and Pippin sat side by side, their arms thrown over each other's shoulders, and laughed at some tale being told in animated fashion by Gimli—no doubt some story in which his exploits with the axe were a major element. Sam still nursed Frodo, cajoling him to take 'just one more bite'. Aragorn remained deep in conversation with Legolas. Boromir stood alone.

After a time, Aragorn clapped Legolas on the shoulder, a gesture that the Elf would have bridled at had it been given at the hand of anyone other than the Ranger. Then he arose and approached Boromir.

"It is fortunate that you have returned, Boromir." ('Not', Boromir thought bitterly, '_I am glad to see you, Boromir_'.)

"As we should reserve the lembas bread for our hours of greatest need," Aragorn continued, "I mean to leave the company for several hours to both scout and hunt."

"You will go alone?"

"I will take Legolas."

Disappointed that he was not the chosen one, Boromir came near saying, "Why do you prefer Legolas' company over mine!" Fortunately, he realized how childish that would have sounded and managed to hold his tongue.

'Besides,' he said to himself, 'how can I blame Aragorn for being at ease in the Elf's company? He grew up amongst Elves, for he was fostered by Elrond at Rivendell. He is no doubt well acquainted with the Prince of Mirkwood, for they must have moved within the same circles. But what am I to him? A stranger. Aye, and a stranger whom he may view as a threat, for he must suspect that my father will not look with favor upon any plan to restore the kingship. Aragorn has every reason to be chary of me, and none to befriend me'.

Keeping such facts as these facts in mind, for weeks Boromir had tried not to resent every sign of friendship between Elf and Ranger.

Aragorn's voice jogged Boromir's attention back to clearing.

"You and Gimli will see to the safety of the Hobbits in our absence."

Boromir nodded, his face impassive. He watched Elf and Ranger depart the clearing, and then turned toward the Halflings and the Dwarf. It was then that he heard the voice again.

_I will be your friend._

Boromir looked sharply at each of the remaining members of the Fellowship. Was it Merry? Pippin? No, Merry and Pippin were practically joined at the hip, for they had been friends since childhood, sharing all manner of adventures and scrapes. Sam? Even less likely. The gardener was Frodo's minder, and, while kind and thoughtful toward all members of the Fellowship, he could spare neither the time nor energy to befriend the Man.

Gimli, then? No. The Dwarf, strange as it may seem, had developed an unlikely friendship with the Elf. The animosity that each had felt for the other at the outset of the journey had for a time been expressed in a subtle but constant bickering that would on occasion drive Gandalf wild. Now the bickering had been replaced by bantering in the guise of a competition over the merits of their respective races. Boromir knew better, for the repartee reminded him of the exchanges between siblings, light-hearted but tinged with rivalry.

These thoughts put Boromir in mind of his own brother, Faramir.

Faramir. Younger and yet it sometimes seemed to Boromir—although not to their father!—that Faramir was the wiser. Denethor mistook his younger son's quietness and reticence for weakness and cowardice, but Boromir knew better. Faramir lacked nothing but impulsiveness—and that was no flaw in a Man who would lead his warriors into battle and then lead them safely out again. The deaths of several soldiers weighed upon Boromir, and he suspected that his brother did not labor under a similar burden of guilt and shame.

_I will be your friend._

Boromir's memories of his brother were interrupted by the insistent voice. He returned his attention to his companions and studied Frodo. No, he thought after a while. No, not the Ringbearer. The Halfling's task was draining him of the ability to focus on anything save the single-minded pursuit of his quest. He would not be seeking the friendship of the son of Gondor.

Frodo looked up and caught the intent gaze that Boromir had fixed upon him. He shifted uneasily and whispered something to Sam, who glanced over his shoulder at the Man. Boromir, who had seated himself, abruptly stood up.

"The fire burns low," he declared. "I will fetch more wood."

With that Boromir strode off into the forest. Only when the Man was both out of sight and out of hearing did Frodo relax and listen to Sam's entreaties that he lie down and rest a little.

In the woods, Boromir began to relax as well. The further he ranged from the camp, the softer the voice became. At last he could hear it no more. Taking his time—he had no wish to hurry his return!—he slowly amassed an armful of branches. Finally, and reluctantly, he turned his steps back toward the camp. There it was again. The Voice, and getting louder with every step.

_I will be your friend._

Boromir gritted his teeth and resisted the impulse to fling down the armload of wood and flee into the forest.

'There will be no friend for me', he silently answered the Voice.

Stillness reigned in Boromir's mind for a few minutes, and the Man began to hope that whoever sought to sway him had given up the attempt.

_If not friendship, then would you have respect?_

Respect? Respect was no trifling thing. Many were those who did not enjoy the fellowship of Men and yet commanded respect. 'Yes', thought Boromir, 'I would have respect."

_Embrace me and it will be yours._

Respect. The awe of Men, tinged perhaps with their fear rather than their friendship. Boromir suddenly realized that this was how matters stood with his father. Gondor stood in awe of Denethor, but no Man called him friend.

'I am indeed my father's son', he thought sadly, kneeling by the fire and feeding it with sticks. The flames writhed and gathered themselves into an eye that seemed to gaze knowingly at Boromir. With a sudden flash of insight, Boromir understood Denethor's antipathy for Faramir. Faramir's warriors respected him, yes, but there was something more. Faramir's Men followed him not only out of respect but also out of love. No one had ever followed Denethor out of love; no one ever would.

As he thought on his father, Boromir found himself looking at the face of Denethor. It was a face wreathed in flame. It flickered in and out of his vision. Sometimes his father's fiery face glowered before him; sometimes the flaming eye. Sometimes he could not tell the difference between the two. Mesmerized by the images in the fire, Boromir allowed his head to droop, the flames drawing closer and closer.

"Boromir!"

Boromir jerked awake. Gimli stood before him, his ruddy face expressing concern.

"Boromir, you were nigh falling into the campfire. Are ye ill?"

Boromir shook his head and stood up.

"No, merely more tired than I realized. I will fetch more wood."

Puzzled, Gimli watched Boromir as he disappeared into the forest. The Man had certainly been gathering a lot of wood lately. Then the Dwarf shrugged, dismissing the matter. After all, Boromir's willingness to collect fuel meant that no one else in the Fellowship had to bother with that particular chore.

A few hours later, Aragorn and Legolas returned to the camp, a deer slung over Aragorn's shoulder. Gimli beamed at the sight. While he had quickly overcome his prejudice against lembas, the elven waybread, that did not mean he would be averse to a savory cut of venison grilled over a fire.

"Good work with the bow, Aragorn," he enthused, "although I'm partial to axes myself."

"'Twas not my arrow that brought it down," replied Aragorn. "The carrying of the carcass is my sole contribution, for it was Legolas who felled it. He had a clear shot; I did not."

"Well," harrumphed Gimli, "it is only fitting that the pointy-eared princeling should on occasion make himself useful."

"And for that gibe, Gimli," Legolas retorted, "your lot shall be the neck bones."

"No! no! no! My dear Elf, I was merely saying that it was only fitting that a prince such as yourself, whose hearing is excellent, should prove to be a great comfort to his companions."

"Ah, well, in that case, a loin cut shall be yours."

"Excellent!" said Gimli, rubbing his hands in both glee and anticipation.

'So Legolas has furnished us with supper', thought Boromir. He suddenly understood why Aragorn had chosen the Elf for the hunting trip. Boromir wielded a sword to great effect, but he carried no bow. It would have been silly of Aragorn to have taken Boromir with him. No one ever brought down a deer with a sword! The Man of Gondor grinned, his private hell receding into the distance as he imagined himself stumbling after deer with sword and buckler. His glance happened to fall upon Aragorn. The two Men exchanged smiles.

"Well," said Boromir jovially, "as Legolas has shot it, and Aragorn has carried it, I suppose I should dress it. And, then," he added, "Sam and Gimli can see to cooking it."

Aragorn, surprised at Boromir's sudden cheerfulness, willingly agreed to this plan, and added his own contribution.

"Which means, of course, that the washing up shall be left to Merry and Pippin."

The two youngest of the company made a perfunctory show of protesting, but everyone was in fact satisfied with the arrangement. No one commented on the fact that Frodo alone amongst the Fellowship had not been assigned a task. In the eyes of his comrades, Frodo would be doing his part if he did no more than force himself to swallow a few bites of venison at the behest of Sam. That in itself was a mighty battle for the Ringbearer.

After dinner, awash in good-feelings, Boromir decided to approach Aragorn and make the case for bringing the Company to Minas Tirith. From the shadows he watched impatiently as Aragorn talked quietly with Legolas. After an interminable length of time, Legolas at last arose and strode off to replace Gimli on the watch. As soon as the Elf was out of sight, Boromir made his move.

Boromir assumed that the Elf was out of hearing as well as sight, but in this the Man was mistaken, for he had failed to allow for the superior senses of the Fair Folk. Still, the conversation began innocently enough, and Legolas, in the tree line, stood relaxed, his back to the camp, his eyes scanning the shadows within the forest, paying little mind to the exchange between the two Men.

"'Tis a fine evening, Aragorn," Boromir's voice came drifting.

"Aye, Boromir, it is."

"The clarity of the skies increases the nearer we draw to Minas Tirith."

"I had not noticed."

Boromir laughed, but his laughter was forced, and Legolas' attention suddenly shifted from the forest to the camp.

"I suppose," Boromir was saying, "that it may be my affection for Gondor that makes the skies above seem so much the clearer as we draw near my homeland."

_Affection_? To Legolas it seemed unnatural to link the words _affection_ and _Boromir_.

When Aragorn replied, Legolas knew that the Ranger, like the Elf, was on his guard. To anyone but Legolas, Aragorn's tone would have seemed neutral, but the Elf perceived the slight coolness that had crept into the Ranger's voice.

"We may soon have to turn east, away from Minas Tirith," Aragorn was saying.

"Why so, Aragorn? When we reach the Falls of Rauros, why should we not turn west?"

"Doing so will take us further from Mount Orodruin. We will later be forced to retrace out steps, and Frodo's suffering will thus be prolonged."

"Only if he still carries the Ring," Boromir said quickly. "If we go to Minas Tirith, it may no longer be necessary for him to endure the weight of that burden."

Aragorn shook his head. "That burden was intended for Frodo and no other."

"We have no proof of that," argued Boromir. "It may have been mere happenstance that the Ring came to the hand of Frodo's kinsman. It is certain, however, that the Ring was once the possession of a Man of Gondor, who won it by the strength of his hand. No accident, that!"

"It is also certain," retorted Aragorn, "that it was a Man of Gondor who clung to the Ring when it should have been cast into the fiery pits of Mount Doom. Not all Men are to be trusted."

"You were quick enough to trust the Elves of Lothlórien!" spat Boromir with undisguised bitterness.

"The Galadhrim were near to hand," replied Aragorn, "and we had no choice."

"And now my Men are near to hand," retorted Boromir.

'_Your_ Men', thought Legolas. 'That's the problem. Loyal to _your_ command, Boromir. Not to the Quest, not to the Ringbearer—and certainly not to Aragorn'.

"We would be too exposed to the Eye of Mordor if we went that way," Aragorn was replying.

Boromir shrugged dismissively. "The rabble of Mordor have more to fear from Men than we from them," he boasted.

"That was not the impression you gave when you came to Elrond seeking assistance," Aragorn shot back.

Boromir bridled. "You mistake me; I came for advice and not aid."

"But what is advice if not a species of aid?"

"I have no desire to banter words," Boromir replied haughtily. "I leave such foolishness to wizards—may it serve them well!"

At that gibe Legolas very nearly launched himself from the cover of the trees, but with a great effort of will he regained his composure.

"It is not foolishness to choose one's words with care," Aragorn replied. Aragorn himself was the proof of that, Legolas thought proudly.

"In these days it is more important to choose one's weapons with care than one's words," Boromir said glibly.

"I have not heard that a word is not a weapon."

"You know what I mean, Aragorn," said Boromir impatiently. "And if we are to speak of weapons and the choice thereof, then let us speak again of the weapon that is foremost in our minds. We may venture to Gondor—we can stand against the hordes of the Dark Lord—because we have the one weapon that will allow us to do so. Let us go forth bravely, Aragorn, and not hide ourselves in the wild like rats."

Boromir made as if to place a friendly hand upon Aragorn's arm, but the Ranger drew back.

"Am I a rat then," he said sarcastically, "for, as you say, I have spent many years hidden in the wild."

"I do not mean to imply," Boromir said hastily, "that you have not spent your time wisely. Need drove you to your path. But now you may avail yourself of another road—one paved with victory and honor! Only come to Gondor, Aragorn—bring the Ring with you to Minas Tirith. Surely, you, of all people, should want to come to Minas Tirith and see the city restored to its proper glory as the chief city of Middle-earth. If you are what you claim to be, that is what you will do," he added challengingly.

Aragorn refused to take the bait. The Ranger shook his head. "We possess the weapon of the enemy, but must have a care that the possessor does not become the possessed. We cannot use it, for to do so would put us within its grasp."

"Bah!" scoffed Boromir, "those are elvish words, lies told to keep children from meddling in a matter best left for the Strong. You are a Man, Aragorn. You must think and act like one! It is true that a smooth-faced Elf could never wield the Ring, but what can be expected from such a creature? Look at Legolas, whom they send out as their champion. That so-called prince is as hairless as a eunuch and probably as lacking in the will to command."

Boromir suddenly found that Aragorn gripped him by the arm—hard.

"You are speaking of my foster-brother," the Ranger said icily, his eyes as cold as his voice.

Boromir gasped as he felt Aragorn tightening his grip. "Ar-ar-aragorn, I m-m-meant no harm! When engaging in debate, it is often the fashion of Men to belittle those whose position they would gainsay."

"As you have said, _I_ am a Man, but it is not _my_ fashion to speak thus. Or will you now say that I am no Man?" Aragorn released his hold on Boromir, who staggered a little and then recoiled several steps and stood rubbing his arm.

"Oh, you are a Man, to be sure! I would never suggest otherwise! And Legolas, he is your foster-brother?"

"Are your ears as ill-governed as your mouth? I have said so."

In his embarrassment, the proud-hearted Boromir looked down at his feet. Now at last he understood why Legolas had been so quick to defend Aragorn at the Council of Elrond. Legolas and Aragorn were brothers. So, too, he now understood why Aragorn preferred the company of Legolas and sought his counsel above that of others. Brothers always did so, for in a world in which much was uncertain, a Man must rely upon his brother. Sworn-brother, foster-brother, sister-son, brother by birth—the exact relationship did not matter, no, not once the bond had been acknowledged. Only utter the word 'brother', and a Man would die for you.

It was this bond that made Boromir hold fast to Faramir even in the face of the harsh judgments of their father Denethor, who had only disparaging words for the younger brother and who would have Boromir cast him aside and place his trust in other Men. "I trust your judgment in all matters," Denethor had once said to Boromir, "save in the matter of that misbegotten brother of yours. What you see in him, I do not know. He is no great leader of Men, as you are. Given half a chance, he would be forever skulking behind the skirts of that meddling conjuror. Sometimes I do not understand how I could have sired two sons so at variance one from the other!"

But the older brother had always stoutly defended the younger and knew that Faramir would return the favor. Faramir would be his best ally—if it came to it, he would be his only ally. There may have been other, softer reasons, for Boromir's loyalty to Faramir. If there were, he did not often dwell upon them and certainly did not do so now. No, now he cautiously raised his eyes and studied the Ranger who stood before him waiting impassively, it seemed, for some sign from the Gondorian.

Boromir did not doubt Aragorn's claim to kinship with Legolas, but if he had, he would have had to admit that the Ranger's still watchfulness was evidence enough that Elf and Man were indeed brothers. It was true that, physically, they looked nothing alike. They differed about the ears, of course, but that was not the only way in which they were dissimilar. Legolas was both shorter than Aragorn and slighter in build. In hair and skin and eyes, Aragorn was the darker of the two. Yet they had that uncanny vigilance in common—that ability to remain entirely motionless and to look as if they could pierce the very soul of a Man and perceive secrets and hidden desires.

It also now occurred to Boromir that Aragorn and Legolas were alike in the way they moved, each graceful in his own fashion, with a speed and agility that far exceeded that of ordinary mortals. Legolas' gracefulness was that of the panther, whilst Aragorn's ability to swerve from side to side in battle reminded Boromir of the dodging movements of a horse; nevertheless, it was now apparent to Boromir, as it should have been earlier, that each had trained at the hands of the same master. No doubt, mused Boromir, that would have been Glorfindel, whose prowess was legendary even as far south as Gondor.

Aragorn still gazed steadily at Boromir. Boromir cleared his throat uncomfortably. How was he to regain Aragorn's trust?

"I never knew you before Rivendell," he began.

"But I knew you," Aragorn replied quietly.

"Did you? I remember, in Lothlórien, you said that you had seen the White City. You have visited Minas Tirith. Was it then you laid eyes upon me?"

"Yes."

This was disconcerting—to know that he had been observed unawares by the Man who now stood before him. Boromir prayed he hadn't done or said anything risible.

"Then you have the advantage of me," he said with an attempt at a casual laugh. "I shall have to date our friendship to our meeting in Rivendell. For friendship I hope it is. Do you remember our first encounter? I interrupted you as sat upon a bench reading—my pardon for that!—and I saw that you were a Man like me and learned that we had come on similar errands. I called you 'friend', for I at once recognized that we were akin—aye! I knew it before ever I was told of your descent from Isildur."

"I do not deny your offer of friendship," Aragorn answered carefully.

"But now it is more than friendship," Boromir continued eagerly. "For we have drawn swords together, you and I. We are brothers in arms!"

Expectantly, Boromir looked at Aragorn. Slowly, the Ranger nodded.

"We are brothers in arms, and we both would see Minas Tirith safe and Gondor restored," Boromir continued, growing bolder.

Again Aragorn nodded.

"Why, then," Boromir laughed, "there is no quarrel between us—save over my foolish words regarding Legolas, and I assure you that I heartily regret my utterances and hold them as naught."

"Boromir, I, too, hope that there is no quarrel between us."

"Excellent!"

"But we are not in accord."

"Not because of my unkind words, surely!"

Aragorn shook his head. "Nay, not over that. You say we would both see to the safety and survival of Gondor, and that is so. But we do not agree on _how_ its safety is to be secured."

"Aragorn," cried Boromir, his impatience reasserting itself, "it is all very simple. Defeat the Enemy using that which He fears the most!"

"We cannot," Aragorn replied steadily. He turned to walk away. Now it was Boromir who seized his arm. "If you will not trust yourself, then trust me," he hissed.

Aragorn tore his arm free of Boromir's grasp.

"I will not lead the Ring within a hundred leagues of your city," said Aragorn with a vehemence that amazed Legolas, who was still a silent witness to this contest between the two Men. 'I have never heard Estel speak to an ally in such a tone', the Elf worried to himself. But, then, was Boromir truly an ally? He had tried to claim Aragorn as a friend and a brother, but was there anything to that other than a sly jockeying for advantage? And of the greater claim that Aragorn had upon Boromir, of that nothing had been said. Boromir sought to claim Aragorn as a brother when he ought to above all acknowledge Isildur's heir as his Captain and his King. Suddenly Legolas' dislike and distrust of Boromir was replaced by fear of the Man.

Having freed himself from Boromir's grip, Aragorn turned his back on the Gondorian and strode from the clearing. Boromir stood looking after him for a little while, his face a mix of emotions—disappointment, anger, shame. At last, as Legolas watched intently from his hiding place, Boromir bent down and picked up first one stick, then another. His arms half filled with sticks, the Man wandered off into the woods. When he was out of sight, Legolas crept back into the camp and roused Gimli. The Dwarf raised his bleary eyes. "My watch already?" he mumbled. "Seems t'me I only just fell asleep."

"I am sorry, my friend," whispered Legolas. "From now on, 'tis needful for two to remain awake at all times."

Gimli groaned but hoisted himself up and buckled on his weapons. After Legolas saw that the Dwarf had taken up the Elf's former position, he himself made for a hillock from which he could keep watch over Frodo. He found that Aragorn had preceded him and was perched there silently, wrapped in his Lórien cloak so that he was invisible to any but an Elf. The Ranger sat rigid with such tenseness that the Elf felt the air about him vibrate like a taut string newly plucked. The Eldar laid his hand upon the Dúnadan's shoulder and tried to draw away some of his burden.

"Get some rest, Aragorn," Legolas said softly. "I will stand watch over Frodo."

"And the rest of the camp?"

"Gimli is in the tree line."

Aragorn nodded. "Very well. But do not allow me to sleep away the entire night. And Boromir must still take his turn, regardless of the words spoken tonight."

Aragorn knew that the Elf had overheard the conversation between the Men. Legolas was not surprised. He nodded.

"I think Boromir is gathering firewood at the moment. When he returns, I will summon him by and by to take Gimli's place."

Aragorn noticed that Legolas did not suggest that Boromir spell Aragorn. Man and Elf were in unspoken accord: whatever transpired, in the days to come Boromir must never, ever be given charge over the Ringbearer.


	15. Chapter 15: Divide and Conquer

**Thanks to the following reviewers: _K'lara7, Windwraith, Fortune Zyne, _and _Apsenniel_. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates part of the story "An Offer of Friendship."**

**Chapter 15: Divide and Conquer**

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly**

Boromir wandered about picking up sticks until his arms were full; then, reluctantly, he returned to the camp. The Hobbits were sleeping, as was Aragorn. Both Gimli and Legolas were nowhere in sight. Boromir supposed that they were hidden somewhere keeping watch, and he wondered why two members of the Fellowship were keeping simultaneous guard. Hitherto only one person at a time had kept watch, an arrangement that allowed each warrior as much sleep as was possible.

'I wonder', Boromir thought uneasily, 'whether this change has anything to do with the words that passed between me and Aragorn'. This thought did nothing to improve his ill humor, and although he rolled up in his blanket, he was unable to sleep. His eyes kept wandering to the corner of the camp where Frodo and the other Hobbits lay huddled. 'Frodo is never alone', Boromir thought to himself. 'If I could get him away from the others, even if only for a little while, perhaps he could be made to see reason. Yes, that is it. I must pry him away from the others."

Suddenly Legolas materialized and stooped by Boromir's bedroll.

"Boromir," said the Elf softly, "it is time to spell Gimli. He is over yonder, in the tree line." Boromir sighed and tossed aside his blanket.

"And you, Legolas, will you remain on watch?"

"For a little while. Then I will ask Aragorn to take my place."

"Why must two keep watch?"

"The further south we go, the greater the danger."

Legolas did not specify a source from whence this increased danger might arise, and Boromir really had no grounds to question the Elf's assertion. He arose, buckled on his scabbard, and slipped into the tree line, there to take the place of a very relieved Gimli, to whom both a full plate and a full-night's sleep were equally important.

Legolas had promised Aragorn that he would not let him sleep the night away, but he knew that the Man was worn with worry, and the Elf therefore kept the letter but not the spirit of his promise. Dawn had not _quite_ arrived when Legolas roused Aragorn.

"You lied," grumbled Aragorn when he saw that the dark of night had turned into the grey of pre-dawn.

"I exaggerated, Estel," Legolas replied cheerfully. "Nothing that _you_ haven't done upon occasion. Do you remember when you promised Elrohir not to cross the threshold of the library until you finished memorizing the genealogy of the Northern Kingdom?"

"Aye," laughed Aragorn. "I do remember. And I kept my promise, didn't I?"

"True. You climbed out the window."

"Who was it taught me that trick?" teased Aragorn. "Why, it was a certain Elf, I do believe."

The two laughed quietly, and then Aragorn arose and took a circuit around the camp. Everything seemed to be in order. Relieved that another night had passed without incident, he recalled Boromir from his post as sentinel. By now Sam was up and had begun to prepare breakfast. Boromir came silently into the camp, as silently sat by the fire, and without comment accepted the bowl that Sam offered him. His demeanor was not altogether different than his usual one; still, to Legolas it seemed that Boromir's silence bespoke surliness, and his distrust of the Man grew the stronger. He feared not only for Frodo but for Aragorn. Boromir wanted the Ring—that was certain—and as for Aragorn, Legolas was sure that Boromir believed him a threat to his father Denethor and, ultimately, to Boromir himself. The Doom that Boromir feared was not only the fall of Minas Tirith but the fall of the dynasty of Stewards.

"You must not think so, gwadur-nîn," Aragorn whispered in the Elf's ear.

"You have been taking lessons from Galadriel," Legolas whispered back in mock accusation.

"Nay, brother," Aragorn whispered back. "You are staring so intently at Boromir that you have let your breakfast grow cold in your hands. Even a Troll could tell where your thoughts lie."

Legolas winced. His emotions had made him incautious, and he could not afford to be so if he wished to safeguard the interests of the Ranger. No doubt divining his friend's chagrin, Aragorn smiled and clapped him on the shoulder and then walked a little aside under the guise of patrolling the perimeter of the camp.

Legolas forced himself to swallow his now stone-cold breakfast. He did not wish to follow Aragorn too quickly, for to do so might attract the attention of Boromir. When he had finished, he went down to the river and rinsed his bowl. Then he returned to the camp and at last came to stand beside Aragorn, who had now drawn his sword and was squinting along its edge, as if checking it for damage. Legolas began to pull arrows from his quiver and sight along their lengths, as if looking for warping of the shafts.

"Boromir is an honorable Man," Aragorn said quietly. "He will not betray us."

"Perhaps he will not _intend_ to betray us, Aragorn. But honorable or no, his desires may—nay! _will_—put us in danger."

"What would you have me do, Legolas?"

"We must be shut of him, Aragorn."

"We soon will be. He will not wish to accompany Frodo to Mordor. He will go west, to Minas Tirith."

"But have you not been thinking of going west yourself?"

Aragorn hesitated. He was torn between accompanying Frodo and raising his sword in defense of his ancestral kingdom.

"Aragorn," Legolas said urgently, "do not go with Boromir to Minas Tirith."

"Why should I not journey to the land which by rights I should lead and by duty I should defend?"

"I fear for you, my brother."

"I should think I would be in more danger in the lands of the Dark Lord," Aragorn replied dryly.

"Aragorn, I very much fear that an accident will befall you if you go to Minas Tirith."

Aragorn raised his eyebrows in the manner of Elrond.

"An _accident_, Legolas? I am well past the awkwardness of adolescence. It is long since such a misadventure has befallen me."

"There are those who would be displeased to see an heir of Isildur come striding through the gates of Minas Tirith."

"You don't mean Boromir, I hope."

"Aragorn, he cannot help but have divided loyalties. If he is, as you say, an honorable Man, he will not deny your claim outright. But his father has a claim upon him as well. Then, too, it is said that Boromir is very like his father, a Man desirous of mastery over other Men. He can hardly look forward to the fact that when you ascend to the throne, the power of the Stewards will be much reduced. Unlike his father, he will never rule over Minas Tirith."

"What you say may be true, but it does not follow that Boromir will seek my death."

"Perhaps not, but his father will. I am sure of it."

"Legolas, you are not Galadriel, to speak of the future with such assurance."

"No," retorted the Elf, "I am not Galadriel, for she never speaks with any assurance at all, whereas I _am_ certain of the truth of what I say. Denethor will not acknowledge your claim, and he has only to say 'Will no one rid me of this meddlesome Ranger?" and your body will be found broken at the base of the wall from which you have, most unfortunately, plummeted."

"Ah, but you are forgetting something very important," rejoined Aragorn, trying to speak lightly. "Anyone wishing to toss me from the walls of Minas Tirith will first have to pass by a stiff-necked Dwarf and an equally stubborn Elf. The odds are very much in my favor."

Legolas groaned and grimaced in a very inelegant fashion. "Aragorn, I am touched by the faith you place in the two of us, but do you really think that we can stave off the entire garrison of Minas Tirith?"

Aragorn was suddenly all seriousness. "Yes," he said simply.

Speechless, Legolas stared at him. Seeing his bemusement, Aragorn broke into a smile.

"No, of course not—at least not literally. Although, if one hundred Men came at you and Gimli, I would not want to be one of the first ninety-nine!"

Legolas stared at him in befuddlement for a minute and then broke into giggles.

"Well," said Aragorn in mock severity, "if you are going to make _that_ sort of silly noise, perhaps I shall have to reconsider placing such confidence in your powers. One might mistake you for Pippin!"

Legolas took a mock swing at Aragorn, who parried it and sent an equally light-hearted feint in the direction of the Elf. Pippin and Merry, descrying the playful scuffle between the warriors, jumped up, eager to join in the affray. Before they had taken two steps, however, Boromir had each of them by the arm.

"Enough foolishness!" he said in a peremptory voice.

"Ow!" cried Pippin and Merry simultaneously.

"You are hurting us!" complained Pippin.

"You didn't mind when we mock-fought with _you_," said Merry accusingly.

Aragorn and Legolas had stopped their scuffling and were staring at Boromir, as were Sam, Frodo, and Gimli. Embarrassed, Boromir released his grip on the two Hobbits. Why, he asked himself, had he tried to stop Merry and Pippin from engaging in a little horseplay? Whatever was the matter with him, that he should begrudge them a few moments of pleasure?

If Boromir had asked Legolas, the Elf would have given him a ready answer. 'Boromir wishes to drive a wedge between Aragorn and the others', the Elf thought to himself. 'He is loath to have Merry or Pippin be friends with a Man whom he perceives as his rival'.

Aragorn caught the Elf's eye and frowned at him. Legolas scowled back defiantly. He understood that Aragorn wished to believe the best of Boromir, but Legolas vowed to continue on his guard against the son of Denethor. Aragorn was his brother, and he would see to his safety.

The awkward moment passed, however, as Aragorn ordered the Company to prepare to resume their journey down the Anduin. Pippin and Merry quickly recovered their good spirits and immediately forgave Boromir for his hurtful behavior. Chattering happily, they assisted the Man in the lading of their boat. Boromir, however, although he strove to counterfeit a pleasant demeanor, did not so quickly regain his equanimity. He was brooding over the fact that Frodo and Sam were always in a boat with Aragorn. Boromir suspected that Aragorn would not trust the Ring-bearer to anyone else—least of all to Boromir. Then, as they pushed away from the shore, the Voice, which had remained silent throughout the night, once again began to whisper to Boromir.

_Embrace me and it will be yours_.

'I will command respect?'

_That and much more_.

'How can I embrace you?'

_You know what you must do_.

'I am sure that I do not!'

_I am sure that you do_.

The Voice was sardonic as it gave this reply, and Boromir was afraid that he _did_ know what he had to do.

'I have given my word', he protested.

_Do you not desire to help Gondor—and your father?_

'Of course'.

_If you were powerful, could you not do so?_

Boromir tried to avoid replying, but he could not help but see the logic of the Voice.

'It is madness to throw it away', he muttered. 'Madness!'

Legolas shouted a warning.

"Boromir!"

Boromir roused himself from his reverie and realized that he had almost driven his boat into the one that bore Legolas and Gimli. It was fortunate that Legolas was so skilled with the paddle, else no doubt Elf and Dwarf once again would have been dumped into the cold current.

Aragorn looked back.

"Steady," he called. "We are almost to Parth Galen."

A little while later, within sight of the Falls of Rauros, the company drew its boats onto the shore at the landing at Parth Galen, the swathe of land at the base of Amon Hen. It was a moment Aragorn had been dreading, for the decision, long postponed, could be delayed no longer. Should all or some of the Fellowship turn west, toward Gondor, or east, toward Mordor? As regards the Ring, in the end only Frodo could decide whither it should be taken, but Aragorn knew that the Hobbit would welcome counsel—and counsel Aragorn feared to offer, for he himself was uncertain of their course.

"If only Gandalf were with us," he muttered to himself. "The Hobbits look to me for wisdom and guidance, but I do not know that I can be relied upon to provide either."

This moment sat heavily upon Frodo as well. He did expect guidance from Aragorn, yes, but like Aragorn, he knew that in the end only he could decide upon a path for the Ring. Some of the Fellowship would follow him no matter what course he chose, even if that meant journeying to very pit of Orodruin. Sam, Pippin, and Merry, surely. As for Gimli and Legolas, they would accompany him if he asked it of them. Aragorn? The Ranger longed to raise his sword in defense of Minas Tirith, but, like Gimli and Legolas, he would go with Frodo to Mordor if this was the wish of the Ringbearer. Boromir? Ah, another matter altogether. He could not ask Boromir to turn his back on Gondor. 'And maybe I wouldn't want him to, anyway', Frodo thought. He was not altogether comfortable with Boromir's presence in the Fellowship. 'Perhaps', thought Frodo, 'this will be a perfect opportunity to be shut of him, in a polite fashion, of course. I shall say that I release him from all obligations so that he can return to Minas Tirith and marshal its defenses'.

Yet in the back of his mind was the fear that Boromir would return to the City only if the Ring went with him. And would it matter to Boromir if the Ring were then borne by Frodo or by some other member of the Fellowship—perhaps Boromir himself? Frodo didn't think so.


	16. Chapter 16: The Fall

**Thanks to the following reviewers: _Farflung, Elfinabottle, Opalkitty, Krissy Wonder, Enigma Jade, Windwraith, Fortune Zyne, _and _Apsenniel_. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates part of my story "An Offer of Friendship," and it contains quotations from both the book and the movie versions of _The Fellowship of the Ring._**

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly**

**Chapter 16: The Fall**

The next morning, still as uncertain as he had been the night before, Frodo begged leave to go aside into the forest so that he might think over his choices. Aragorn reluctantly agreed. He was wary of granting the Ring-bearer's request: first, because he did not think Frodo should go anywhere alone, second, because a decision had to be reached quickly. Aragorn knew that they had very little time to choose a course of action, for in the wider world events must be moving. Moreover, in addition to the general need for haste, the Company's immediate situation was perilous. Legolas had confided to Aragorn that he felt the approach of something evil. Aragorn had felt it, too—a shadow and a threat. They could not linger long in the vicinity of Parth Galen.

After Frodo left the camp, Boromir looked for a time at the fire that Sam tended. A goodly pile of branches was stacked nearby. 'Still', Boromir murmured to himself, 'you can never have enough wood'. He arose and slipped into the forest.

For a little while, Boromir picked up branches until he had an armful. At length, as he wandered, he heard the Voice. This time, instead of fleeing from it, he moved with deliberate steps in its direction. Still holding the armful of wood, he came up behind Frodo as the Hobbit meditated his course beside one of the monumental pieces of fallen statuary that were scattered all about. Hearing Boromir come up, Frodo spun about to face him. The fear on the Hobbit's face diminished when he saw that the intruder was Boromir, but his expression remained wary. This fact did not escape Boromir's attention, and he began by carefully adopting the guise of a friendship that he had abandoned hope of ever achieving. His first words therefore gave Frodo no specific cause for suspicion—nothing that he could point to in particular—but the Hobbit did not abandon his guarded manner. For always as Boromir spoke, his eyes strayed to the chain from which dangled the hidden weight of the Ring, unseen by all but forgotten by none. Fixing his gaze upon the spot where the Ring must lie, the Man began to urge Frodo to come with him to Minas Tirith. If only Frodo would but lend him the use of the Ring, he wheedled—for only a little while, and in a good cause, too! The Son of the Steward began to spin pictures of the future that would be Gondor's—that would be his, Boromir's!—if only the Ring were to hand. His plans went from the grand, to grandeur, to the grandiose. So far was Boromir carried as he declaimed excitedly, that at last he himself was startled at his words. 'I sound so much like my father', he thought with surprise. 'When did I begin to talk so?'

Indeed, the voice and the words issuing forth from Boromir's mouth did not at all resemble those of the Man who had toiled alongside the other members of the Fellowship for so many weeks. No surprise, then, that Frodo continued to back away from the advancing Man. Boromir, after pausing a moment in confusion, was again possessed by his desire for the Ring. By now he had thrown down his armful of wood, and he stalked toward Frodo.

"You are not yourself!" the Hobbit exclaimed in a panic. "You speak with the voice of another'.

"No," insisted Boromir, "I do not. This is who I am."

"Then it is only a part of you," retorted Frodo, "and it is the part that I do not wish to know. I want to see the Boromir who laughed as he gave Merry and Pippin lessons in sword-handling. I want to see the Boromir who begged of Aragorn that we be given more time to recover from the horror and grief of Moria."

"Aragorn did not listen to my plea," snarled Boromir.

"No, for he could not. But that signifies nothing. What matters is that you asked. For your prayer arose out of kindness and compassion. I beg of you, show that kindness and compassion in this matter."

"Very well, then. I shall _compassionately_ relieve you of your burden," sneered Boromir. He lunged for the Hobbit, who—vanished.

_Embrace me! _called the Voice, which now in its turn sounded very much like Denethor's. 'Strange that I never noticed that before', thought Boromir.

Bewildered, Boromir staggered all about the clearing, his arms flailing, searching for Frodo, all the while half expecting to see his father momentarily. At last he caught his foot upon a rock and fell in a daze upon the ground. As he lay there, incapable of moving, the voice of his father rapidly receded into the distance, wailing frantically even as it dwindled. _Embrace me! embrace me!_

Boromir suddenly understood that the voice had not been his father's voice. He hoped it never would be. Nor had his own voice been altogether his own. The voices of pride and avarice were to be found with the Ring-bearer, yet they were not of the Ring-bearer—although perhaps someday they would be if Frodo himself were ever to fall prey to their spell. For now, they accompanied the Ring-bearer, tempting him and all who drew near. With Frodo—and the Ring—gone, Boromir knew that he would never hear them again. For that he could be thankful. But that thought was of little comfort to a Man who had looked into his heart of darkness and seen how far he could be tempted.

Slowly Boromir gathered his wits until he was able to marshal enough strength to arise from the ground where he crouched curled over upon himself. Once able to stand, he walked sadly and wearily back toward the camp. 'I had thought to gain the respect of the others', he thought miserably. 'Now I have forfeited even my own'.

Boromir's manner at once drew the attention of the others when he reentered the camp, and after a few sharp questions, the Man of Gondor reluctantly admitted that he had exchanged words with the Ring-bearer. He was reluctant to speak in detail of the incident, but he said enough to alarm his companions. It was plain that Boromir had quarreled with Frodo and that the Hobbit must have made use of the Ring. Almost instantaneously, the camp was thrown into confusion. Sam and the two youngest Hobbits at once dashed away in search of Frodo, and even Legolas and Gimli ran off without first taking counsel with Aragorn. Only Boromir, who had once bridled at following the orders of Aragorn, remained to do the bidding of the Dúnadan.

"Boromir!" cried Aragorn, "I do not know what part you have played in this mischief, but help now! Go after those two young Hobbits and guard them at the least, even if you can not find Frodo."

Boromir obeyed without hesitation, striding after Merry and Pippin with the same determination with which he had once stalked Frodo. Guard the two little ones. That was his charge now. In this he would not—must not—fail. 'I will make Faramir proud of me', he vowed. 'In this at least I may redeem myself'. Why he thought of his brother then and not his father, he did not know, and there was no time to reflect upon the question.

A tall Man, Boromir had a stride in keeping with his height, but the Hobbits, fearing for their friend, had run swiftly. Boromir did not catch up with them until their progress had been checked by creatures that Boromir knew all too well. Uruk-hai were foul beasts much larger and fiercer than the Orcs the Company had battled in Moria. It was Uruk-hai that had swarmed into Ithilien and devastated Osgiliath. Merry and Pippin, in their eagerness to find Frodo, had stumbled right into the midst of a rabble of them. For several minutes, the Halflings had fended off the pack with the blades gifted them by Galadriel, and then Boromir, his sword at the ready, had bulled his way into the glade. 'I _will'_, Boromir vowed grimly as he took up his position between the Hobbits and the Uruks who menaced them. 'I _will_ win respect, even if it is only mine and my brother's'. This had not been the way he had hoped to win it, but win it he would. Not _or_ die trying, neither. He _would_ die trying. This he knew with a clarity that had eluded him until Frodo had fled, taking the Ring with him.

While Boromir fended off one band of Uruk-hai, trying to buy time for Pippin and Merry, Aragorn confronted a second mob at the crest of a hill he had climbed to gain a vantage in his effort to discover Frodo's whereabouts. Here he had sat briefly in the Seat of Seeing that had been built atop Amon Hen, the Hill of the Eye. He gazed all about in hopes of spying something, anything, that would reveal the Ring-bearer's mind. In the end, he saw nothing to help him, but he knew at once that Frodo had been there when the creatures of the Dark Lord, drawn by the Ring-bearer's scent, swarmed out of the tree line. 'So Frodo has come this way', fretted Aragorn as he drew his sword. 'I must keep them from following the trail further, but I must also find him and the other Hobbits. How am I to do both?' But thought was forced to give way to action as Uruk after Uruk attempted to mount the narrow steps to the platform where Aragorn stood. One after another they toppled, limbless, headless, as the Ranger beat them back. No doubt he could have remained safe upon the Seat and continued felling his foes one by one, but he feared that whilst he did so some other marauding band of Uruk-hai would sniff out one or more of the Hobbits. He had no choice but to make good his escape. Unable to descend by the steps, blocked as they were by the swarming Uruk-hai, Aragorn leapt from the top of the monument. He landed atop two Uruks, his weight and momentum bearing them to the ground and breaking the leg of one and the neck of the other.

The surviving Uruk-hai were now at Aragorn's back, but he soon found that he was no nearer escape than before. Attracted by the noise of battle and the smell of blood, more Uruks poured out from the tree line. Aragorn pivoted, hacking at his enemies, until he was able to keep his back to the monument. Although still vastly outnumbered, he once again had to fight off only a few foes at a time. Yet he was no nearer his goal of tracking and protecting the Hobbits. Great was his relief, then, when Gimli and Legolas burst from the tree line and flung themselves into the battle. Dwarf and Elf each fought in his characteristic fashion. With a roar and a raised axe, Gimli hurled himself directly at the thickest knot of Uruk-hai and began to methodically chop his way through his foes. As for Legolas, at first he made use of his bow, halting several yards away from the surging bodies of his assailants and swiftly sending arrows into their midst. As more and more Uruk-hai rushed him, he at last abandoned his bow, wielding one last arrow as if it were a lance, thrusting it into the throat of the foremost foe. Then he drew his twin blades and thrust and parried with such rapidity that the movements of his hands were as blurred as those of the wings of a dragonfly hovering above the water in search of prey.

Yet as hard as Gimli, Legolas, and Aragorn fought, they made little headway. More and more foes poured out from the forest. 'Has Sauron emptied all of Mordor?' Legolas wondered as he dodged a blow from one assailant whilst dispatching another.

In the midst of the battle, a sound rang out that the Companions had heard only once before, when they had stood outside Elrond's dwelling the evening of their departure from Rivendell.

"The Horn of Gondor!" shouted Legolas.

The trio of warriors redoubled their efforts, reminded that they fought not only for their lives but for the lives of their friends.

Boromir's horn sounded again.

"Aragorn, go!" shouted Legolas.

Dodging and decapitating Uruk-hai as he fled, Aragorn made it to the tree line, his escape covered by a determined Dwarf and a fierce Elf. Frantically, in a footrace with his foes, Aragorn sought for the source of the horn. Soon, however, he was led by another sound, the clash and ring of sword upon scimitar.

In a nearby glade, Boromir, like Aragorn, had positioned himself with his back to cover. Flanking him were Pippin and Merry, small but doughty warriors who taught their enemies to look to their ankles, for a slashed Achilles tendon could fell a foe as surely as a slashed throat.

The Uruks were huge in size, but their weapons and manner of fighting were crude in the extreme. Perhaps Boromir and the Halflings could have held them off until Aragorn arrived to succor them, had not something happened to alter the balance between them and their foes. As Boromir swung his sword at an Uruk who suddenly came at him from one side, a searing pain tore through his body. He staggered back against a tree and looked down at the black fletching of the Uruk arrow that protruded from his chest. He raised his head and looked into the leering face of the enormous creature that emerged from the darkness beneath the trees. This beast was larger than all the others, and Boromir at once understood that this was the chieftain of the Uruk-hai.

The Man also understood that he was dead. The arrow was poisoned. The pain pulsating in Boromir's chest told him that, as did the grayness that began to spread across his eyes. But then he had known that he was dead when he set out to redeem himself. Grimly, with a strength that belied his fatal wound, he pushed himself away from the tree and thrust his sword into the belly of a Uruk that had thought to close in for the kill. With another effort, he pulled his sword from the body and raised it to strike at the next foe. It was then that the second arrow struck his chest. The air was punched from Boromir's lungs, and he collapsed upon his knees. Almost immediately, however, he staggered back onto his feet and struck out at a dark shape that rushed toward him. Another foe fell dead at Boromir's feet, but even as he slew the one enemy, he dimly heard the sound of a bowstring again being drawn. The third arrow buried itself in his chest, and Boromir fell once more to his knees. He knew that he would nevermore arise a living man.

At his side, Pippin and Merry had at first stood bewildered as their friend had fallen, struggled to his feet, and fallen again. Now, stirred to action at the realization that Boromir was dying in their defense, they sprang forward crying inarticulately and brandishing their blades. Their own courage, combined with the virtue in their elven weapons, held the Uruk-hai at bay for a very little while, but at last they were borne down by their much larger foes. With guttural cries of triumph, the Uruks trussed up their captives and dragged them from the glade.

Behind them, Boromir still knelt, awaiting his doom. Drawing upon his last reserves of strength and dignity, he raised his head to look into the face of the Uruk chieftain. Savoring the moment of the kill, and with a smirk upon his face, the creature slowly drew his bow. His vision fading, Boromir waited resignedly, listening to the creak of the bow as the string was drawn taut.

So intent was the Uruk upon his prey that he did not notice movement to his left. Thus it was that Aragorn, lighter by far than the massive chieftain, took the creature unawares, crashing into the Uruk in full career. Bow and shaft flew from the grip of the Uruk, and he tumbled heavily to the ground. Agile in spite of his weight, however, the Uruk at once surged to his feet and lunged toward Aragorn. Heavy scimitar met lighter sword, and Aragorn staggered backward and fetched up against a tree. Before the Dúnadan could recover, the Uruk threw his shield at him, and Aragorn found himself pinned to the trunk, the bottom flanges of the shield driven into the wood at either side of his neck. The Uruk raised his scimitar and aimed a blow that would have decapitated Aragorn, but at the last instant the Ranger pried the shield loose and scrambled out from underneath it. Sparks flew as the scimitar struck the surface of the shield.

Aragorn flung himself upon the ground as he avoided the scimitar, and before he could regain his feet, his enemy stood above him, raising his weapon to deal the death blow. Instinctively, the Ranger kicked him in the vitals. This was not an elegant maneuver, but Aragorn had never been one to dwell upon the niceties of warfare. Effectiveness was all, and it could not be denied that Aragorn's kick had been that and more. As the Uruk stood doubled over above Aragorn, the Ranger reared up and stabbed the creature in the belly.

More than a gut-wound, however, would be needful to bring down this creature. Snarling, the Uruk reached out his long arms and seized Aragorn by his shoulders, yanking him to his feet and then head-butting him. Dazed, Aragorn lost his footing and fell upon his back. As he lay in the dirt, the Uruk kicked him, and Aragorn rolled over and over, leaves and sticks catching in his hair and beard, blood oozing from his nose and the sides of his mouth. But his roll took him beyond the reach of the Uruk, and he managed to stagger to his feet. As he did so, the Uruk wrenched Aragorn's blade from his belly and threw it at the Ranger. Aragorn knocked it aside with his sword and charged toward his enemy. The momentum was his for the moment, and with a blow both desperate and well-aimed, the Dúnadan hacked off one of the Uruk's arms. Still the creature kept coming at him, and Aragorn thrust his sword into its chest. For a moment time was suspended, and then the Uruk pulled himself forward along the blade, snarling, until his pointed teeth were within inches of Aragorn's face. For a second, unnerved by his foe's latest maneuver, Aragorn flinched back, but then he recovered his wits. He yanked his sword free of his foe's body and with one great blow he parted the Uruk's head from his shoulders. Briefly the body remained erect, and for a space Aragorn feared that the Uruk would fight on headless. At last, however, the creature's remains toppled over. Breathing hard and ignoring the blood that flowed from his broken lips and torn hands, Aragorn turned toward the spot where he had last seen Boromir. The Man of Gondor had slid down upon his back, and Aragorn now saw with horrible clarity the extent of his injuries. At Boromir's feet lay the many of his foes who had preceded him into death, but that did not console Aragorn, who knelt grief-stricken by the side of his fellow. Boromir marshaled the few words that remained to him.

"They took the little ones," he gasped.

Aragorn urged him to be still, but Boromir would not be quieted. Every word uttered pained the Man of Gondor, but he insisted on making his confession before passing on to his fathers.

"I tried to take the Ring from Frodo," he said, his voice raspy, his breath wheezing in his chest.

"The Ring is beyond our reach now," said Aragorn, trying to reassure him. But Boromir would not be comforted.

"Forgive me. I did not see it! I have failed you all."

Aragorn swore to him that he had not. "No, Boromir. You fought bravely! You have kept your honor."

Boromir smiled a little at these words, whether in disavowal or in gratitude Aragorn could not tell. He moved to draw forth one of the arrows from Boromir's chest, but Boromir stayed him. "Leave it," he gasped. "It is over. The world of men will fall, and all will come to darkness, and my city—to ruin."

Aragorn had told Boromir that he would not bring the Ring within one-hundred leagues of Minas Tirith, but he had never said that he would not go there himself. Now he vowed that he would. "I do not know," he confessed, "what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you I will not let the white city fall, nor our people fail"

Near to death as he was, Boromir recognized the import of his words. "Our people?" he murmured softly. "Our people," he said a little louder, a slight glimmer of hope kindled in the fading eyes. He groped for his sword, and Aragorn placed it in his hand. Then Boromir spoke again, and for the last time.

"I would have followed you," he gasped. "My brother. My captain. My king." He tightened his grip on his sword, and then his pained features relaxed as death released him from grief and guilt.

'You did not say "my friend",' Aragorn thought, 'but I know that you were'. He bent to kiss the forehead of the departed warrior. Aloud he said, "Be at peace, son of Gondor."

Atop Amon Hen, Legolas and Gimli had dispatched the last of their assailants, and now they urgently searched the forest for Aragorn and their other friends. The ground was scarred by the innumerable tracks of the hobnailed boots of the Uruk-hai, Legolas found it difficult to pick up the trail, but at last he happened upon the marks of a Ranger. Eager yet fearful, Elf and Dwarf followed the trail until they found Aragorn where he knelt weeping by the body of Boromir. For a moment they stood silent at the tableaux, and then they stole forward softly. Even the Dwarf made no sound as they drew near.

Weeping for the evil fate of the Man of Gondor, Aragorn remained silent so long that Legolas began to fear that the Ranger, too, had taken a mortal wound. The Elf slipped closer, until at last Aragorn raised his head and acknowledged his presence. The Ranger was not ashamed that Legolas should see him weeping. Nor would Legolas have thought to upbraid him for his tears. For Legolas's face, too, was marked by a sorrow only a little less than the pain that he had felt at the fall of Gandalf. His sadness arose partly from grief at the death of Boromir, who, by the manner of his death, the Elf now knew to have been an honorable Man, partly out of the Prince's empathy for his foster brother. How could he not feel the misery that now afflicted Aragorn, with whom he had shared so much, both of good and ill?

There was little to be said, however, and much to be done. They were resolved that they would not leave Boromir's body to the wolves or worse. Although their plight would not permit them the time needed to bury the warrior or erect a cairn over his body, they could farewell him in the ancient style, by setting him adrift in a boat that would carry him over the falls of Rauros. This they did quickly. Still, they did not neglect any honor that might be done him. Carefully they arranged the limbs of the slain warrior in the bottom of the boat. His sword they placed on his chest. The weapons of his enemies they piled at his feet. His horn, cloven in two, they placed by his side. Paddling a second boat, they drew the funeral vessel into the midst of the river and cast it loose. As they watched it float toward the falls, they sang in Boromir's honor. Elf, Dwarf, and Man, they sang such songs as had only a few days before been sung by the Galadhrim of the Golden Wood. 'Thus did the Elves of Lothlórien sing for Mithrandir', Legolas thought sadly. Boromir, who had never hoped to be honored by his companions, would have taken solace at the thought, although Legolas could not have known this.

After consigning Boromir to the protection of the river, they returned to the shore and began to consider what they ought to do next. Should they search for Frodo and Sam, or should they attempt a rescue of Merry and Pippin? If Aragorn had read the signs aright, these were their two choices. The Ranger reckoned from the words of Boromir that the youngest Hobbits had been taken captive by the Uruk-hai, and he was convinced by marks that he had found near the boats that Frodo and Sam had taken one of the vessels, no doubt to cross to the eastern shore and then on to Mordor. The Periannath, then, were now divided into two. Which group to follow? Either choice seemed ill. Abandon the quest, or abandon the captives?

As they stood by the shore pondering their decision, Legolas cast his eye upon the eastern shore, and his coiled muscles found a release in sudden action. He had spotted the tiny speck that was the vessel bearing Frodo and Sam. Urgently he seized the stern of the remaining boat and began to push it once more into the water. "Hurry!" he cried. "Frodo and Sam have reached the eastern shore."

Aragorn did not move, and for a moment Legolas was perplexed. Frodo and Sam were within easy reach; was Aragorn choosing the less certain path, that of pursuing the fleeing Uruks and their captives? Then the Elf wondered what Gandalf would have advised. 'In the end', he imagined the old wizard intoning, 'the Quest must rest upon Frodo's shoulders. Its fulfillment lies not in the hands of those who bear swords. Yet those same hands may effect a rescue of the little ones who will otherwise suffer torment at the hands of the Uruk-hai'.

"You mean not to follow them," said Legolas, his utterance neither purely a statement nor yet a question, for the Elf could not be certain that Aragorn thought as Gandalf did. ('As Gandalf _would_ have thought if he were alive', Legolas reminded himself.).

Aragorn broke his silence. "Frodo's fate is no longer in our hands," he declared flatly. Gimli, standing by the side of Legolas, spoke then, his face downcast and his gruff voice laden with sorrow. "Then it has all been in vain. The Fellowship has failed," he said dejectedly.

"Not as long as we remain true to one another," Aragorn said suddenly, animation returning to his face. He was fastening one of Boromir's vambraces upon his wrist, and Legolas saw from the set of his jaw that the Dúnadan had embraced Gandalf's wisdom. The vambrace buckled, the Ranger clapped one hand on the shoulder of each of his companions. "We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death," he declared. "Not while we have strength left. Leave all that can be spared behind. We travel light." The Man's eyes glinted as he turned aside to examine the knife gifted him by Celeborn. He replaced it in its scabbard, straightened his shoulders, and glanced back at his two friends.

"Let's hunt some Orc." With that, he wheeled about and loped away, confident that his companions would follow.

Gimli exchanged glances with Legolas. "Yee-ees!" growled Gimli. Legolas favored him with a small smile, no more than a twitch of his lips, really, and then sprang after Aragorn. Behind him came the Dwarf, the strength of his heart more than enough to make up for the shortness of his limbs. And the Three Hunters, different in race and temperament but united in love and friendship, disappeared into the vast forest, having taken an oath, unspoken but unbreakable, to follow the trail of their lost companions to wherever it might lead.


	17. Chapter 17: Red Dawn

**Thanks to the following reviewers: _Spiritstllionofthecimarro, Kitsune, Anarane, Elfinabottle, Opalkitty, Keji, CAH, _and _Windwraith._ I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter makes use of both the book and the movie versions of _The Two Towers _and incorporates quotations from both**

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly**

**Chapter 17: A Red Dawn**

'Breathe', Gimli urged himself. 'Breathe'. He was several hundred feet behind Legolas, but he could comfort himself with the knowledge that the distance between Elf and Dwarf had not widened for the last several hours. He had to thank the hardness of the soil for that fact. Few signs of their quarry were imprinted upon the rocky surface, and Legolas and Aragorn were often forced to slow their pace in order to search about for the trail. When this happened, Gimli would catch up with them and stand panting whilst recovering his wind. Then, with a "Come, Gimli," Legolas would spring forward, and the trio would resume the race.

Legolas was not unaware of the plight of his friend, but it seemed that he had no choice but to urge Gimli onward. The Uruk-hai that had captured Pippin and Merry had not only had a head start but were traveling at great speed. If the Hunters were to have any chance of rescuing the Hobbits, they would have to push themselves mercilessly. From time to time the Elf would glance back to assure himself that the Dwarf was still within sight, and on one occasion he winced as he saw Gimli catch his foot upon a stone and tumble down a slope. He almost turned back to aid his friend, but the Dwarf, stoic in the face of pain, had pushed himself up from the ground and with a scarcely perceptible limp had recommenced running. He had grumbled but had not referred to his injury, and a trace of a smile crossed Legolas's face as Gimli's words wafted forward upon a breeze. "I am wasted on cross-country!" the Nauga was griping. "We Dwarves are natural sprinters! Very dangerous over short distances!"

Ahead, Aragorn had come to a halt. He had reached the edge of an escarpment and was gazing down at the plain below. Legolas caught up beside him and stood gazing into the distance.

"Legolas," said Aragorn urgently, "what do your elf eyes see?"

Legolas peered hard at the plain. Far away he could make out a plume of dust. Within the dust must be their enemies and—he hoped—two Halflings. The Hunters had not come across any bloodied garments or bones that looked as if they might be the remnants of Hobbits, and so Legolas and his companions still allowed themselves to hope that they could recover their friends unharmed.

"Legolas," repeated Aragorn.

"The Uruks turn northeast," said Legolas. "They're taking the hobbits to Isengard!"

"Saruman," Aragorn said flatly. He had never doubted Gandalf's tale of his betrayal and imprisonment at Isengard, but the events of the past few days had brought the truth home to him in a way that even the fall of Gandalf had not. Gandalf's death could perhaps be laid at the feet of forces beyond Saruman's control, but there was now no mistaking the fact that the death of Boromir had been at the hands of the White Wizard.

The three Companions began to pick their way down the escarpment. Soon they were at its base and began to run once more. Once they had reached the bottom of the cliff, not even Legolas could descry their foes, but the trail was easy enough to follow. The plain of the Rohirrim, the Horse-masters, was an endless pasture, and the band of Uruk-hai left a broad swathe of trampled grass in its wake. Aragorn and Legolas now ran faster than before, and Gimli must perforce quicken his pace as well, and with fewer opportunities to catch his breath. Legolas marvelled at how the Dwarf was able to keep up. 'He is running on sheer stubbornness, I think', the Elf thought to himself. 'It must help that the ground is less rocky than formerly; ne'ertheless, it is a mighty deed that one so short in the legs should run at so great a pace and for so long a distance. Gimli has the limbs of a Dwarf but the heart of a Giant!'

After several hours of running steadily across the Plains of Rohan, Aragorn, who was in the lead, suddenly shouted to his fellows to stand fast. He veered from the path of the Uruks, and when he returned, he bore in his hand a small object and on his face an expression of hope.

"I saw a small path leave the main one, and when I followed it to its end, I found this," he said, proffering the object. It was a Lothlórien brooch, shaped like a mallorn leaf. Unconsciously, both Legolas and Gimli touched the leaf brooches at their throats. The mallorn brooch was something the members of the Fellowship shared in common.

"Not idly do the leaves of Lórien fall," continued Aragorn. "One at least of the Hobbits still lives and has use of both his legs and his wits. He was, alas, swiftly recaptured—the path did not go far!—but he had been kept alive to this point and was not killed out of hand for his boldness. He has more value as a captive than as a corpse, I deem."

"Let us hope that the Uruks do not change their minds about that," growled Gimli.

"Let us not give them _time_ to change their minds," Legolas added. As one, the three Hunters began the race anew, and Legolas noticed that it was a long time before Gimli began to flag and fall behind the Elf and the Man.

Flag he did in the end, but it was not that which brought the chase to a halt. No, it was the failing of the light. The Companions ran on past dusk, but at last Aragorn stopped and bade that they consider what to do.

"There is no moon to light our way, and even the stars are hidden," he worried. "I fear lest we miss our way in the dark."

"I can feel the path, Aragorn," Legolas argued. "It will be easy to tell when we have strayed from the trail trampled by the heavy feet of our foes. Let me take the lead."

"It is true that we could make shift to follow the main trail," agreed Gimli, "but we might miss a lesser trail. What if a Hobbit were to again break free of his captors? Or what if the Uruks were to divide into two bands? We might miss the signs in the dark."

After much discussion, the Companions were in accord: they would rest until first light and then resume the pursuit. Both Aragorn and Gimli wrapped themselves in their cloaks and lay upon the ground. Legolas, however, walked back and forth, singing to himself. Partly he remained on his feet because he did not need sleep in the same fashion as did the two mortals; partly, however, he did so because he knew that neither Aragorn nor Gimli enjoyed a truly restful sleep. One suffered from grief and doubt; the other's sufferings were bodily and likewise grievous.

Legolas began with the Ranger. When Legolas had come upon Aragorn as he knelt by the body of Boromir, the Elf perceived at once that the heir to the throne of Gondor blamed himself for the death of the son of the Steward. Not only that, but Aragorn felt that the capture of Pippin and Merry was equally his doing. Indeed, the breaking of the Fellowship was to be laid at his feet as well. Since the death of Boromir, in speech and in thought Aragorn had reproached himself continuously. "It is I that have failed," he had said aloud as he knelt by Boromir's body. "Vain was Gandalf's trust in me," he had murmured, his head bowed, as Gimli and Legolas quietly drew near.

Over the next two days, convinced that all his choices had gone amiss, Aragorn had warned his companions that they gave the choice to an ill-chooser whenever they showed signs of deferring to his opinions. For so great was Aragorn's grief that this repeated show of trust in the Ranger's good judgment was not enough to restore his confidence in his own abilities. Thus was his mind now in turmoil even as his body slumbered. Distressed that the Man should feel such sorrow and uncertainty, Legolas resolved to do what he could to comfort his friend by sending his thoughts thither in an effort to convince him that his decisions had been wise ones.

"Aragorn, you could have neither predicted nor prevented the events that took place at Parth Galen."

"How can you say that, Legolas?" a dreaming Aragorn replied. "You yourself warned that Boromir would try to take the ring. And you warned me that we were stalked by evil."

"True, and you knew of the approach of evil as well. We both knew. And we neither of us could have stopped its coming."

"But Boromir I should have saved, and the Fellowship preserved. If I had, then Pippin and Merry would not be in the hands of the Uruk-hai, and Frodo and Sam would not be bereft of guidance."

"Perhaps it was not meant that Boromir should be saved. For Boromir, death may have been both an honorable and a compassionate conclusion to a life that would soon have had no meaning."

"But what of Frodo and Sam? They are adrift, with no one to guide them."

"Are you certain of that, Aragorn? Guidance may be found where one least expects it. And the guidance that you could have provided, are you sure it would have been the sort that they now need? Perhaps the Fellowship was meant to be dissolved at the Falls of Rauros for that very reason, so that Frodo and Sam could exchange your guidance for another's."

"You speak as Gandalf would," mused Aragorn. "Almost I feel as if he were still alive. But, Legolas, even Gandalf would be hard put to find meaning in the capture of Pippin and Merry."

"That may be so, but recall that not even Galadriel claims to understand all. I know Gandalf never did! We younger folk must perforce know even less. Seeing that this is so, we needs must patiently await the event. In the meanwhile, we have no choice but to adopt that course which seems best to us. It boots us not to distress ourselves over things that cannot be changed!"

Aragorn did not answer, and Legolas marked with pleasure how the Man had at last fallen into a truly restful sleep.

Now that Aragorn slept deeply, Legolas turned his thoughts toward Gimli. Legolas knew that Gimli had been in pain ever since the Dwarf had tumbled down the slope. 'He wrenched his knee quite badly', Legolas said to himself. Of that much the Elf was certain. What he was not certain of, however, was how to proceed, for he had never tried to meld his mind with that of a Dwarf. He wondered if it were even possible. 'But I must at least try', he thought to himself. 'The attempt is unlikely to cause harm. Failure on my part will doubtless leave Gimli no worse off than before because he will be quite unconscious of my efforts. If I succeed, however, I may be able to ease his pain considerably'.

The Elf began by thinking of the warm springs near the center of Lothlórien. Haldir and his brothers had first taken him to these springs the year that Thranduil had reclaimed Legolas from his foster family in Rivendell. On the way from Rivendell to Mirkwood, the royal party had stopped in the Golden Valley. Legolas had been grieving at his separation from Elrohir, Elladan, and Estel; and the Lórien Elves thought to assuage his grief by introducing him to the 'elf cauldrons', as they were jocularly known.

"Only immerse yourself in this basin," Orophin had urged him, "and you will feel your sorrows soothed by the warmth of the water."

Legolas stood cautiously at the edge of one of the cauldrons and wrinkled up his nose. "This place stinks like a Troll's armpit!" he exclaimed in disgust.

"Don't exaggerate," Rumil deadpanned. "It is really no worse than the breath of a dragon."

"Actually," Haldir said earnestly, "there may be something to that. I have heard it said that a brood of dragons dwelt hereabouts, before we Galadhrim journeyed hence."

Rumil and Orophin rolled their eyes and glanced expressively at Legolas, who quickly looked down at his feet so that Haldir would not see him smile. By now, he had gotten used to the rotten-egg smell of the sulfurous spring, and he carefully lowered himself into the water, which bubbled with the upsurge of gases. It was almost too hot to bear at first, but then, as his limbs became used to the water, he felt the tension begin to leave his body. Sighing, he stretched out his legs in front of him. His arms he draped over the rim of the cauldron while tilting his head back against the edge. "Mmmmm," he murmured, closing his eyes against the vapors. His body and his spirit had grown lighter and lighter as he had succumbed more and more to the combined effect of the motion and warmth of the water.

Now, pacing about upon the Plains of Rohan, Legolas felt his body relax at this memory, and having captured the sensations of that long ago time, he sought to share some of the remembered warmth and contentment with Gimli. He imagined the Dwarf dangling his injured leg over the edge of the cauldron. The Elf was unable to visualize Gimli submerging more than that limb, but that leg would suffice as long as the knee was fully immersed in the medicinal spring. Yes, he could see it now: the sore knee soaking in the warm water, the lines on Gimli's face smoothed away as the pain lessened, the tension in his muscles easing.

Suddenly Legolas heard a snorting noise, which was soon replaced by rhythmic rumbling. The Elf stopped pacing and looked at the Dwarf. Gimli's mouth was open, and from it arose the sound of snoring. Legolas smiled a little. Usually he could hardly bear Gimli's snoring; tonight, however, he welcomed the racket, for it gave proof that Gimli's pain had eased enough to allow the Dwarf to settle into deep sleep.

Content at last that both of his friends slept well, Legolas resumed pacing and singing with a lighter heart. But after awhile an unexpected noise interrupted the melody. Legolas heard someone speak. Legolas froze and swiftly looked about for the source of this voice, but he saw nothing. Tentatively, he took another step. At once he again heard the voice. He stopped. The voice stopped. He took another step. The voice began again. More curious than afraid now, Legolas resumed his circuit, humming wordlessly, the voice mingling with the Elf's wordless tune. The voice was deep and raspy, putting Legolas in mind of an old Man who had smoked a lifetime of pipes. 'Gandalf', Legolas thought to himself. 'It sounds like Gandalf. Aragorn just now said that I spoke like Gandalf. I suppose it is but natural that I should imagine his voice. It is amazing, though, how very real he sounds. I feel as if I ought to be able to reach out and grab that ragged old robe of his'. Suddenly Legolas again ceased his pacing. 'Pipe weed', he murmured. 'I would swear that I smell pipe weed!' Legolas squinted into the mist that swirled about their spartan encampment. He knew it was only a phantasm of his imagination, but not ten meters away stood what looked like an old man garbed in a white robe. Were it not for the white robe, Legolas would have sworn that it was Gandalf. As it was, however, Legolas suspected that it was a simulacrum of Saruman, sent by that wizard to trouble his thoughts.

With the grey of predawn, Aragorn awoke. Legolas remained where the Ranger had last seen him the night before, and Aragorn suspected that the Elf had never slept at all—at least not in a fashion that a Man would have recognized as sleep. Aragorn arose and went to stand by the side of his friend. "I had a vision last night," the Elf said, his voice conversational, as if he had nothing of more importance to report than the passage of a sparrow. "It was in my mind that our camp was visited by at least one apparition. At first I thought the specter to be Gandalf, but then it seemed that Saruman haunted me."

"Did you learn ought?" asked Aragorn, equally conversational, as if a vision were an ordinary occurrence.

Legolas shook his head. "I cannot say that I learned anything. I could not make out the words spoken by the first specter. I felt comforted when he spoke—that is all."

"And the second apparition?"

"He said nothing."

"What did you feel? If he were the spirit of Saruman, you would have felt threatened."

"I did not fear him."

"Odd," Aragorn said softly.

"Both figures may have been nothing more than the effluvia of my imagination, Aragorn, the first representing my longing for my lost friend, the second a figure of that which I fear."

"But you said that you did not fear," said Aragorn under his breath, more to himself than to Legolas. The Elf looked at him curiously, but the Ranger turned from him and called out to Gimli. Blinking and shaking his head to clear his wits of sleep, the Dwarf sat up. "Why are you waking me before there is enough light to see my own hands," he grumbled.

"Look toward the east, Gimli. There will soon be enough light to descry a trail. If your hands can find their way to your mouth, that will suffice, for we will not spare a minute of daylight on anything but the chase."

Gimli grunted his assent. Each of the three quickly swallowed a small bite of lembas, washing the morsel down with one or two swallows from a water skin that was passed from hand to hand; and when the sun broke the horizon, the trio had already resumed the hunt. As they ran the world turned a rosy hue such as poets sing of, and the surface of a lake that they passed turned to liquid gold. Legolas remembered another such lake. As they passed it on one of their numberless journeys, Aragorn had cried out to Legolas, "Mellon-nîn, let us turn aside and camp beside yonder lake. I think the sunrise in this spot will be beautiful past reckoning, and it may be long before we return to this spot." Legolas had been agreeable, and he had gathered wood and built a fire whilst Aragorn had cast his line into the lake. The Man had returned to the camp with three fish, and Legolas had grilled them over the fire. And they had laughed and sang and told stories throughout the night. Morning found them still awake and they had stood side by side, awed, as the lake had turned into the red-gold of a day's dawning.

But this day the dawning boded ill. Legolas was seized with a premonition. "A red sun rises," he declared sombrely. "Blood has been spilled this night."

Aragorn glanced anxiously at his friend. First the apparitions, now this. The Ranger was certain that Legolas's presentiments would prove true in some fashion. 'Blood has been spilled, yes', the Ranger murmured to himself, 'but whose blood?'

Unconsciously redoubling his speed, Aragorn ran on. Behind him, Legolas and Gimli picked up the pace as well, and soon the three cloaked figures disappeared into the vastness of the Plains of Rohan. At their backs, unseen, the golden waters turned ashen.


	18. Chapter 18: An Apparition

**Thanks to the following reviewers: _The Inebriated Lion-Minion, CAH, Windwraith, spiritstllionofthecimarro, and Elfinabottle_. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates part of my story "A Friendship Transcending Death," and it contains quotations from the book and/or movie versions of _The Two Towers._**

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly**

**Chapter 18: An Apparition**

Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas had run without respite since the dawning of this third day of the pursuit, but they had drawn no nearer to their prey. For the Uruk-hai had stopped for neither the rising of the sun nor its setting. "They run as if the very whips of their masters were behind them," Legolas had cried in frustration as he examined the spoor of their quarry and saw that the distance between Hunters and Hunted had grown rather than diminished.

Aragorn nodded slowly. "There is something strange at work here. Some evil gives speed to these creatures and sets its will against ours."

"Saruman," growled Gimli.

"Aye, Saruman," agreed Legolas. "The closer we draw to Isengard, the faster our foes speed, and the greater our weariness grows."

Indeed, they had now slowed to a walk, and in their despair it seemed to them that they had little chance of rescuing their friends. If the Uruk-hai should reach Fangorn Forest, then they would come within the grasp of the White Wizard, and what could three weary travellers do against so formidable a foe?

"A band of horses draws near," Legolas suddenly said.

"I hear nothing," Gimli said doubtfully.

"I, too, hear nothing," said Aragorn, "but Legolas truly does have the ears of a fox."

Gimli grimaced a little at being reminded of his encounter with Haldir in Lothlórien, but he knew that Aragorn spoke the truth. As they walked on, both Man and Dwarf listened for the sounds that Legolas had reported. At last Aragorn said that he, too, heard the distant hooves of galloping horses. "If they are near enough for me to hear, Legolas," he said to his elven friend, "then mayhap you can see them."

"Yes," said Legolas. "A herd of horses approaches from the north, from the direction of Fangorn. They are a little over a hundred in number. Three of the horses are riderless; the others carry doughty Men armed with spears and round shields. These Men bear green banners upon which gallop horses as noble as their own."

"Rohirrim," observed Aragorn. "Was a time I should have rejoiced at the approach of the Riders of Rohan, but, now, in these uncertain times…." Aragorn let his words trail off, but Legolas and Gimli knew that the Man was thinking of Saruman's treachery and of the rumour that the Rohirrim were likewise in league with the Enemy.

After a little while, Aragorn, too, could make out the approaching herd, although he could not see it with the same detail as did Legolas. At last, after they had ascended a hill, even Gimli could make out a distant cloud of dust. It was then that Aragorn bade that they should settle themselves upon the grass and await the Riders.

Perhaps it was the Lothlórien cloaks that the travellers wore or perhaps it was the scattering of boulders that shielded them from the view of the Riders. For whatever reason, the Men swept past them without a sign. Aragorn, however, was eager for news, and he leapt to his feet when the last rider had galloped past their hiding place. "What news from the North, Riders of Rohan?" he shouted, his voice carrying above the wind that blew incessantly across the Plains of Rohan.

Had circumstances been otherwise, Legolas would have appreciated the skill of the Riders who now, at a signal from their leader, reined their horses about and charged back toward the intruders. Instead, Elf though he was, Legolas had to struggle against dizziness as the Riders circled them, the column spiralling in toward the strangers as if they were in the vortex of a whirlpool. When the Riders came to a halt, they had formed a tight circle around the strangers, and as one, they lowered their spears until the points were only inches from Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. Had the Rohirrim not been such skilful riders or had one of the horses shied suddenly, no doubt the Three Companions would have been reduced to two.

The leader of the patrol wore a helmet that was decorated with a horse tail longer than most, but even without that ornament it would have been easy to recognize him. He had a masterful manner, and Legolas saw at once that he would brook no disrespect. Seeing that there were only three intruders, and that they were lightly armed, he raised his spear and his fellows did likewise. Then he urged his horse forward a little and spoke with the voice of own accustomed to being obeyed at once and without question. "What business," he demanded, "does an Elf, a man and a Dwarf have in the Riddermark? Speak quickly!"

Gimli bridled at being spoken to in such a peremptory fashion. "Give me your name, Horsemaster, and I shall give you mine," he replied truculently.

The Rider handed off his spear to another and swung a leg over the back of his horse. Aragorn placed a restraining hand on Gimli's shoulder as the Rider stalked toward the Dwarf, his hand on his sword. He came to a halt only inches from Man and Dwarf. "I would cut off your head, _Dwarf_, if it stood but a little higher from the ground," he growled.

On the instant, Legolas sprang to the defence of his friend. His gestures were so quick that afterward the Men of Rohan swore that Gandalf must have lent him his magic. He drew and nocked an arrow and had it pointed at the Rider's neck. "You would die before your stroke fell!" the Elf cried fiercely.

The Men of Rohan had not the swiftness of Elves, but they acted quickly enough. Suddenly the three Companions again stood in the midst of a thicket of lowered spears whose points were only inches from their heads and chests. Legolas stood steadfast, bowstring drawn taut; Gimli's eyes widened, his mouth forming an 'O'. Aragorn moved to defuse the tension. Swiftly yet smoothly, he laid his hand on Legolas' bow and prompted the Elf to lower it. Legolas obeyed, but he continued to glare at the Rider who had threatened Gimli. Aragorn spoke up and drew the Man's attention away from the Elf.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gimli, son of Glóin, and Legolas of the Woodland realm. We are friends of Rohan and of Théoden, your king."

The expression on the face of the Rider remained grim, but he took off his helmet, and at this gesture his Men once again raised their spears. Yet the three friends knew that they still remained in peril of their lives as the Rider circled the strangers, studying them warily. When he spoke, his voice was laced with suspicion. "We are a folk who would live at peace within our own borders, but we are pressed incessantly by the servants of Saruman. The White Wizard has claimed lordship over these lands, and he has poisoned the mind of my uncle the king The White Wizard is cunning. He walks here and there, they say, as an old man, hooded and cloaked." The Rider came to a stop in front of Legolas. "And everywhere," he continued, "his spies slip past our nets." Here the Man looked pointedly at Legolas, who stared back at him unflinchingly. The Elf's defiance pleased Gimli, who looked gleefully at the angry Rider. 'Lad has some hair on him somewhere', the Dwarf chortled to himself. Gimli was careful, however, not to speak his thoughts aloud. He had no mind to find himself once more at imminent risk of being skewered.

The Rider continued to stare at Legolas, who likewise glared at the Man. Aragorn again attempted to draw the Rider's attention away from the Elf.

"We are not spies," he reassured the Rider, moving slightly so that he stepped into the Rider's line of vision. "We track a party of Uruk-hai westward across the plain. They have taken captive two of our friends, else we would not have presumed to trespass upon the lands of the Rohirrim. But as you see, we are driven by need. You are the nephew of the king. Your name is known beyond the borders of this land, for you are Éomer son of Éomund, a Man honoured as much for his just dealings as for his prowess upon the field. I pray, then, that you forward our quest. If you will not aid us, at least give us leave to cross these lands."

"If I do, it will little boot you," replied the Man. "The Uruks and all who accompanied them are destroyed. We slaughtered them during the night at the cost of fifteen Men and twelve horses."

Gimli quickly abandoned his truculence. "But there were two Hobbits!" he exclaimed anxiously. "Did you see two Hobbits with them?" The Rider looked at him uncomprehendingly. "They would be small," explained Aragorn, "only children to your eyes."

Éomer shook his head. "We left none alive. If two such creatures were amongst the Uruks, then they have perished." He gestured to the distant horizon. "We piled the carcasses and burned them." Legolas and Aragorn could make out a distant column of smoke. As for Gimli, even if his eyesight had been keener, he was too distraught to look. "Dead?" he whispered. Legolas put a hand upon his shoulder, a gesture which the Dwarf would once have resented but for which he now would have felt gratitude had he not been too numb to notice. He would remember it later, however.

The grief and dismay upon the faces of the friends were unmistakable, and Éomer's stern manner softened. "I am sorry," he said, roughly but sincerely. "I give you leave to continue your journey. It is within my power to offer you the loan of horses as well, although I fear that they will serve only to bear you more swiftly to the place where your friends perished."

At Éomer's command, three horses were brought up. The Trackers, however, accepted the loan of only two. Gimli knew nothing of horsemanship, and he and Legolas were mounted alike upon a white horse horse, Arod, whilst Aragorn swung himself into the saddle of a dark-grey one, Hasufel. "May these horses bear you to better fortune than their former masters," declared Éomer. He swung onto his own mount. "Farewell," he cried. "Look for your friends. But do not trust to hope—it has forsaken these lands." To his Riders he shouted, "We ride north! Hah!"

The Rohirrim troop thundered away, clods of earth cast into the air as hooves struck the ground. Behind them, the three friends anxiously turned their steeds toward Fangorn Forest. Even though they were now horsed, they did not at first travel much faster than before. Legolas had welcomed the loan of Rohirrim horses, but with Gimli clinging to him, for a time he found the going difficult. "Gimli," begged the Elf, "pray do not clutch me so tightly."

"How am I to keep atop this beast if I do not hang on to you," Gimli objected.

"I did not say to let go altogether," replied Legolas. "But cannot you hold on without digging your nails into my sides?"

"Delicate Elf," grumbled Gimli. "Thin-skinned in every sense of the word."

Nervous at being upon a horse, the Dwarf not only was digging into Legolas's side but was repeatedly throwing the Elf off balance. Again and again, Legolas recovered just in time to avoid losing his seat, but at last the inevitable happened. Gimli listed to one side, threatening to pull Legolas after him. To counteract Gimli's weight, the Elf threw himself in the other direction. Gimli, trying to be helpful, tried to shift his weight back in the other direction as well. With the weight of both on the same side, over they went.

Rocks jutted up from the rolling plains of Rohan, and the Elf landed hard upon one. To make matters worse, Gimli, laden with axes and armor, then fell atop Legolas. The Elf heard a crack from within his chest, and for a moment felt that being skewered by an Orc sword would be less painful than serving as a cushion for a fully armed Dwarf. Still, in spite of the throbbing in his chest, Legolas did not reproach his friend. Patiently, he boosted Gimli back upon the horse and then remounted himself.

This was the only diversion, if diversion it were, during the remainder of their journey. All too soon they arrived at a place where it was plain that a battle had lately transpired. Arrow shafts were trampled into the ground, and the earth was soiled by the black blood of Orcs. The severed head of an Uruk, tongue lolling from lifeless mouth, was impaled upon a broken spear that had been thrust into the ground. Most horribly in the eyes of the Trackers was the pile of smoldering carcasses. Somewhere within, they feared, were the small bodies of their friends. As he stood staring at the jumble of blackened bones, Aragorn suddenly gave way to sorrow and frustration. Letting out a cry of anguish, he kicked furiously at a helmet, sending it flying. Then he collapsed onto his knees, head bowed and fists clenched at his side. Nearby, Legolas, too, bowed his head. Eyes closed and holding a hand to his chest, he murmured an elvish benediction for the departed. "Hiro îth… ab 'wanath..." May they find peace in death, he prayed.  
Gazing upon his friend, Gimli saw on his face an expression like the one that it had borne after their escape from Moria, when Legolas had been forced to cope with the death of Gandalf. There was one difference, though, Gimli realized. Legolas did not look bewildered. Having witnessed the fall first of Gandalf and then of Boromir, the Elf no longer found the death of mortals so incomprehensible. Such deaths were tragic, yes, but not, alas, unfathomable.

Sorrowing both for the Hobbits and for the friends who mourned them, Gimli sought an outlet for his own grief. Not given to prayer, the Dwarf instead took his axe and used it to probe the smoldering jumble of charred bones. He sought for any trace of Merry and Pippin, that the remains might be given a proper burial, but all he unearthed was the scorched remnant of a belt that he thought might have belonged to one of the Hobbits. There was no other sign that they had been present at the battle.

Gimli's efforts at last drew the attention of Aragorn. He lifted his head and gazed at the discolored strip of leather that the Dwarf clutched in his hand. Had the fire been so hot that it had consumed all other traces? The Hobbits were small, yes, but not infants. Aragorn drew himself out of his grief and commenced scouring the grass for further traces of his small friends. 'I will not give up', he vowed to himself, 'until I am certain that I can neither rescue Merry and Pippin nor proffer them the last offices that one friend may perform for another'.

With the intensity of a scout trained at the hands of both Elves and Rangers, Aragorn methodically canvassed the trampled grass. "That does not look like the mark of either Orc or Man," he said at last, gesturing to a scuff mark. To Gimli, the slight indentation in the soil signified nothing. Legolas, however, nodded. "You are right, my friend. It is certain that one of the Perian stood here." Elf and Man continued the hunt, with Gimli trailing by several yards so as to avoid spoiling any traces.

"Over here, Estel," Legolas called suddenly. "I have found another print."

Aragorn hurried to his side. "Mark you, Legolas," the Ranger said, striving to hold his excitement in check, "that both prints point toward the forest. It may have proved a refuge during the battle."

The two scouts were now upon hands and knees, determined not to overlook any sign of their friends. All at once Aragorn gave a cry of undisguised excitement. He held up a short length of rope in one hand and in the other the broken blade of a knife. "Legolas! Gimli! I'll warrant that this blade was used to cut the bonds of a captive—and I doubt an Orc would have been so obliging! One Hobbit at least was at liberty."

From that point on, they were able to follow the trail ever more swiftly, for the further they moved from the center of the skirmish, the less the tracks were spoiled by the marks of Orcs and Men. Aragorn had been right: the trail led to Fangorn Forest, and soon they were standing under the eaves of the forest itself. To Gimli, it looked a dark and unwholesome place. He shuddered. "What madness drew them here?"

"Need, my friend," replied Aragorn. "Need and desperation. But do not fear, Gimli! Fangorn is not so dangerous a place to those who do not come bearing axes."

"That does not reassure me," Gimli said sourly, nervously fingering one of the said instruments.

Aragorn spared the Dwarf a fleeting smile and strode on into the forest. Legolas followed, and after hanging fire momentarily, Gimli did likewise. "We know that one Hobbit at the least escaped," Aragorn worried, "but I should very much like to find signs that both made their way to safety."

At last Aragorn found what he was looking for: two sets of prints side-by-side, one clearly larger than the other. Now Aragorn spared more than a fleeting smile. "Well, my friends," he said, "against all hope Merry and Pippin have escaped their captors and found safe harborage. For all their size, these Hobbits are a doughty and resourceful folk."

Gimli cleared his throat meaningfully. "Perhaps I ought to have said," Aragorn amended hastily, "that _because_ of their size they are doughty and resourceful. The Valar not having been profligate in the matter of their height, the Halflings are a folk who must perforce excel in other ways."

Behind Gimli's back, Legolas grinned at the Ranger. Quickly, however, Man and Elf returned to the serious business of tracking their missing friends. The search became increasingly difficult, however, for the light began to fail. "We had better give o'er the search until morning," Aragorn at last said reluctantly. "Let us return to our horses and make camp."

Gimli beamed. "So we are not to camp within this forest?"

"At the edge of it, yes," replied Aragorn.

Gimli's face fell, but Legolas clapped him on the shoulder. "Do not fear, Gimli. I will vouch for you, for I am on very good terms with just these sorts of trees."

"Murderous ones?"

"There is anger in this forest, true, but it is not directed at us."

"Nor at Merry and Pippin, I hope."

"No, only at those who would harm this land. If I were an Orc, I should not want to venture alone into the heart of this wood."

Gimli was mollified, but Aragorn noticed that he stayed very close to Legolas as they retraced their steps to the forest's edge. There they saw to their horses and set up a camp, gathering together such loose branches as they could find to build a cook fire, for Legolas warned them not to cut any live wood. "We camp here at the sufferance of these trees," he told Gimli. "Should they withdraw their welcome, you may wake up with a creeper wrapped about your neck."

"Not wake up, is more like it," grumbled Gimli. The Dwarf drew his axe from his belt. He had intended to place it by his pack, but first he hefted it out of habit, as always taking delight in the weapon's balance. At once a groaning sound resonated throughout the forest. "Gimli," whispered Aragorn, gesturing urgently, "lower your axe." The Dwarf did so swiftly, and the angry groaning subsided to a low rumble and then faded away. Gimli carefully placed the axe upon the ground and backed away from it. Situating himself as close to the fire as possible, he wrapped himself in his cloak and fell into an uneasy sleep, one populated by dreams of lowering trees that reached out with strangling branches to snag the unwary.

Legolas observed the Dwarf carefully. The Elf had been in pain since Gimli had pulled him from their horse, but Legolas had remained silent about his injuries because he had not wished to distress his friend. At last he was certain that Gimli was asleep, even if fitfully. With a relieved sigh he carefully slipped out of his tunic and asked Aragorn to tightly bind strips of cloth around his chest. Aragorn raised his eyebrows after the fashion of Elrond when he saw the enormous bruise upon the Elf's upper body.

"Does Gimli grip you so tightly, then?"

"No, that accounts for the bruises around my waist," Legolas jested weakly. "This one upon my chest I acquired when I was caught between Gimli and a rock."

"No doubt when Gimli pulled you off your horse today."

"Exactly."

"That was hours ago. Why did you wait so long to ask me to bind your chest?"

"I didn't want to distress Gimli," Legolas replied simply.

Aragorn smiled fondly at the Elf. For a moment his fears and sorrows were forgotten. 'How pleased Gandalf would be', he thought to himself, 'if he knew that Elf and Dwarf had become friends. He had wished it to be so. He would be surprised, though, if he knew how strong an attachment has grown between the two. I think it would have exceeded his expectations'.

Legolas looked at Aragorn and knew what he was thinking. He smiled sheepishly.

"He's just a short version of Gandalf, Aragorn. Hairy and grumpy and smelling of pipe weed. It is impossible not to grow attached to the rascal."

"As you have proved today," teased Aragorn. "Wherever you go, Gimli is sure to follow—even when you fall off a horse!"

"If I were not in so much pain," Legolas retorted, "I would rub your face in the dirt."

Aragorn shrugged his shoulders. "Wouldn't make any appreciable difference in my appearance, would it?"

"No," said Legolas, laughing in spite of the pain. "No, it wouldn't!"

Once Aragorn had bound his chest, Legolas felt much more comfortable, and he volunteered to take the first watch. Aragorn wrapped himself in his cloak and lay down beside Gimli while Legolas sat beside the fire, relaxed but weapons near to hand. He allowed the fire to burn low but did not let it go out altogether, carefully feeding it sticks whenever it threatened to do so. The wood was mainly dry, and the fire burned cleanly. From time to time, however, a wisp of smoke would hover above the flame. It seemed to Legolas that on occasion the smoke would take the form of one animal or another, such as a horse or a dragon. When it did so, the Elf was put in mind of Gandalf, and after awhile Legolas began to imagine that he smelled the odor of pipe weed rather than that of wood smoke. Comforted by the familiar smell, he fell into a half-dreaming state, and as had happened two days earlier, before the Elf arose the figure of an agéd man wrapped in a cloak and leaning upon a staff, his face hidden by a broad brimmed hat. "Gandalf," murmured the Elf longingly. In a minute, though, he shook himself out of his reverie. The figure reminded him sharply of Gandalf, but Gandalf was dead. Was it an apparition, then, or a memory given form by the night mist—or something else, something more substantial? "Aragorn! Gimli!" Legolas whispered. "Something draws near—flesh or spirit I do not know."

Aragorn was awake upon the instant. Gimli slept a little more soundly, but Aragorn nudged him with his foot, and the Dwarf gaped into awareness. "Why—," he began to say, but Aragorn shushed him, pointing with his chin toward the cloaked Man who stood without the circle of their fire. "Who is that?" whispered Gimli to Legolas. "What is that may be the better question," Legolas whispered back. To Aragorn, however, the figure looked real enough to address. Rising to his feet, he strode toward the old Man. "Well, father, what can we do for you?" he declared. "Come and be warm, if you are cold!" But suddenly the figure vanished, and almost simultaneously they heard the sound of horses galloping. "They are gone!" cried Legolas. "The horses are gone!" Their mounts were not elven, so Legolas had picketed them, but they had dragged loose the pickets. The Companions listened as their steeds galloped away, the sounds gradually diminishing. There came the sound of whinnying and neighing, and then the silence was filled only by the sound of the incessant wind that blew across the Plains of Rohan, stirring the limbs of the trees at its edge.

Man, Elf, and Dwarf looked from one to the other. They stood on the edge of Fangorn Forest, and some force, perhaps a malign one, was near. Whether flesh or spirit, it had deprived them of their horses. What would be its next move? Aragorn offered to take the next watch, but, truly, his offer was unnecessary, for neither of his fellows was of a mind to sleep. And so in uneasy watchfulness the Companions passed the remainder of the night.


	19. Chapter 19: Transformations

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's. In this chapter, I follow Tolkien in having Éomer present at Meduseld when Gandalf and the Three Hunters arrive.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers: _The Inebriated Lion-Minion, Apsenniel, Telcontar Rulz, Kitsune, CAH, Windwraith, _and _Opalkitty_. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates quotations from the book and/or movie versions of _The Two Towers._**

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly**

**Chapter 19: Transformations**

The next morning, as soon as there was enough light, the Hunters resumed the search for their friends. Aragorn swiftly led them to the spot where they had left off the night before. For a while they could follow the trail easily; then—it vanished. Aragorn and Legolas searched all about for many yards in each direction, but they could find no further sign of the Hobbits. All they found were marks that looked as if branches had been dragged through the leaf windrows.

"It is as if they have been lifted off the face of Arda," Aragorn said at last.

"If any Ents still walked the face of Middle-earth," said Legolas, "I would say that Merry and Pippin had been taken by such a creature. Alas! It has been long since any Tree Warden roamed this forest. That race has died out."

"Tree Warden?" said Gimli.

"The guardians and shepherds of the trees," answered Legolas. "This is an ancient forest, and it was once populated by ancient creatures." The Elf began to chant sadly:

"_I amar prestar aen._

_Han mathon ne nen;_

_Han mathon ne chae;_

_A han noston ned 'wilith."_

Legolas fell silent, his eyes fixed upon a distant time and place.

"You speak his elvish lingo," Gimli whispered to Aragorn. "What is he saying?" Aragorn replied, his voice as solemn as the Elf's.

"The world is changed.

I feel it in the water;

I feel it in the Earth;

I smell it in the air."

"Yes," said Legolas, breaking out of his trance and speaking once again in the Common Tongue. "Much that once was is lost. For none now live who remember it."

To Gimli, it seemed as if he understood the Elf anew. 'His world is fading', Gimli said to himself, 'as is mine. For I do not think that Khazad-dûm will ever be restored to its former glory, no, not even should the Ring-bearer succeed in his quest. In that, Legolas and I are both alike, I deem'. And charitably putting aside the matter of the Elf's lack of body hair, the Dwarf resolved to treat Legolas like a brother (reserving the right, of course, to twit him sufficiently to keep him from becoming an insufferable prig).

Gimli's magnanimous meditations were suddenly interrupted when his friend softly sounded a warning.

"Aragorn," the Elf whispered, "nad no ennas!" Even though Gimli knew only a few words of elvish, he grasped at once what Legolas was saying. Something was out there.

Aragorn instinctively replied in the language in which he had first learned to track. "Man cenich?" What did his friend sense?

His eyes intent upon the surrounding trees, the Elf spared few words in reply. "The White Wizard approaches," he hissed.

Each companion reached for his favored weapon: Gimli his axe, Aragorn his sword, and Legolas his bow. All had the same fear. If this were indeed the White Wizard, they were in great peril. Given the opportunity to speak, the Istar would surely try to put a spell upon them. Perhaps he had in fact already done so, for when the stranger at last stepped into view, Elf, Dwarf, and Man at first found themselves unable to raise weapon against him. The stranger stepped into a patch of sunlight, and the dazzling light prevented the Trackers from discerning his face. Oddly, it almost seemed as if the light that enveloped him came from within rather than without, but this of course must have been a trick of the eye.

The stranger spoke first. "You are tracking the footsteps of two young Hobbits," he observed serenely.

"Where are they?" Aragorn demanded.

The stranger spoke again, seemingly unmoved by the urgency in Aragorn's voice. As Legolas listened, he was reminded of Gandalf's voice on those occasions when the wizard had been relaxed and indulgent. 'But Gandalf is dead', the Elf reminded himself. He tightened his grip on his bow and slowly reached for an arrow.

"They passed this way the day before yesterday," the Man was saying. "They met someone they did not expect. Does that comfort you?"

It did not. Just at that moment the sun went behind a cloud. Their eyes no longer dazzled, the Trackers saw at once that underneath a grey cloak the stranger wore a white robe. "Saruman the White!" cried Gimli. The Trackers were galvanized into action. Gimli sent his axe flying in pursuit of his words. With his staff, the wizard knocked the weapon aside. Legolas released an arrow, but it burst into flame and fell to earth in ashes. All that remained of it was the tip, glowing red against green moss. Aragorn strode forward, his sword upraised. With a yell, he suddenly dropped it as the blade appeared to burst into fire in his hand.

Breathing hard, the three stared transfixed at the wizard, who was now fully revealed to them.

"It cannot be," whispered Aragorn.

Gimli bowed at the waist. Beside him, Legolas dropped upon one knee. "Forgive me, Gandalf," he said contritely. "I mistook you for Saruman."

The wizard spoke in the same serene voice. "I am Saruman. Or rather, Saruman as he should have been."

"You fell!" marveled Aragorn.

The Trackers saw that Gandalf's grey robe was in fact a Lothlórien one, and now he wrapped it more tightly about himself, as if warding off an unpleasant memory. "Through fire and water, Aragorn," he answered slowly. "From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, I fought with the Balrog of Morgoth until at last I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountainside." The wizard shivered. "Darkness took me then, and I strayed out of thought and time. Stars wheeled overhead and everyday was as long as a life-age of the earth. But it was not the end. I felt life in me again." Gandalf shook himself out of his reverie, and when he spoke again it was with the energy of a Man who had much to do and little time to do it. "I have been sent back until my task is done," he declared.

"Gandalf!" said Aragorn happily.

Gandalf paused and looked a little puzzled. "Gandalf? Ye-es," he said thoughtfully, as if searching through memories of a former life. "Yes, that was what they used to call me. Gandalf the Grey. That was my name." A smile slowly o'erspread his face.

"Gandalf!" chortled Gimli.

"I am Gandalf the White now," continued the wizard. But as Legolas watched, it seemed to him as if a transformation was taking place every bit as momentous as the one that had changed Gandalf the Grey into Gandalf the White. For the twinkle in Gandalf's eyes suddenly reappeared, as did the crinkly lines in the corner of those eyes. He exchanged a fond smile with the Elf before he went on.

"Yes, I am Gandalf the White," the wizard said briskly, "and I come back to you now at the turn of the tide. But first," he declared, turning to Aragorn, "we must see to your foot."

"His foot?" exclaimed Gimli, puzzled. Aragorn looked shamefaced.

"At the pyre, when I kicked that helmet, perhaps I did so excessively hard."

Gandalf led them to a nearby stream—he seemed to know the forest very well—and insisted that Aragorn sit upon a log and remove his boot.

"Oooh," breathed Gimli sympathetically when the Ranger's foot was revealed, its toes bruised and swollen. "That does look bad, laddie."

"Why didn't you say something, Aragorn?" Legolas asked disapprovingly.

"Hah!" exclaimed Aragorn, looking hard at the Elf. "Don't _you _go on about hiding injuries! If you do, _I_ shall tell a tale or two."

Legolas subsided. Gandalf gave the young Elf a knowing look and then turned his attention to bathing Aragorn's foot and binding his broken toes. "There now," he at last said cheerfully. "I don't think they will have to come off."

"Good!" declared Aragorn. "For I shall need my legs if we are still to rescue the Hobbits."

"Oh, that won't be necessary," said Gandalf airily.

The three Trackers exchanged bewildered looks.

"Yes," Gandalf went on, oblivious to their confusion, "it was more than mere chance that brought Merry and Pippin to Fangorn. A great power has been sleeping here for many long years. The coming of Merry and Pippin will be like the falling of small stones that starts an avalanche."

Bemused, Aragorn shook his head. "My friend, in one respect you have not changed."

"Oh?" said Gandalf.

"You still speak in riddles!"

Gandalf chuckled. "Then let me speak more plainly. A thing is about to happen that has not occurred since the Elder Days. The Ents are going to wake up—and find that they are strong."

"The Ents!" cried Legolas excitedly. "Then they are not all dead. Is Treebeard…?"

"Quite well," Gandalf assured him. "Indeed, it is Treebeard, chief of all Tree Wardens, who has rescued Merry and Pippin. They are quite safe in his hands, or his branches, I suppose he would prefer I say. In any event, it is thus that one stage of your journey is over and another begins. We must hasten to Edoras."

"Ai! If only I had not injured my foot!" cried Aragorn in frustration. "Gandalf, we were horsed, but we have lost our mounts. At the rate I shall hobble, the Third Age will have ended before we reach Edoras."

"Oh, I shouldn't worry," said Gandalf. "I have it on good authority that the Third Age will not end without you." Unperturbed, he led them to the edge of forest, where he placed two fingers in his mouth and let out a whistle so shrill and piercing that Legolas winced and covered his ears. From afar came an answering neigh—followed by another, and another. Soon they heard the drumbeat of hooves upon the earth, and a white horse, elegant but strong of limb, galloped into view, followed at a distance by Hasufel and Arod.

Legolas spoke reverently. "Unless my eyes be cheated by some spell, that stallion is one of the Mearas."

Snorting and tossing his head, the horse trotted up to Gandalf and allowed the wizard to stroke his nose. "Shadowfax," said the wizard happily. "He is the lord of all horses, and he has been my friend through many dangers since I chose him from Théoden's stable."

"The King of Rohan gifted you this horse?" said Aragorn in disbelief.

Gandalf laughed. "After my escape from Isengard, I flew to Edoras to warn Théoden of Saruman's treachery. He would not listen but told me to take any horse that pleased me and get me hence. I took him at his word!"

"Gandalf," said Gimli, who was still bewildered by the events of the past few days, "was it you took our horses last night? But why did you not speak to us when you approached our camp?"

Gandalf looked as perplexed as Gimli. "I? I took no horses last night. And I had no opportunity to speak with you, for I was elsewhere, deep in conversation with Treebeard."

"So it _was_ Saruman!" exclaimed Legolas. "But why would he take our horses and then loose them again?"

"It may have been Saruman we saw," observed Aragorn, "but it does not follow that he stole the horses. Perhaps they sensed the nearness of Shadowfax and dragged their pickets in their eagerness to be with their fellow."

"Then they have proved themselves sensible steeds," said Gandalf, giving Shadowfax one last caress before swinging atop the stallion. As he did so, Legolas marveled at the bond between Man and horse. In all the years that Legolas had known him, Gandalf had always been a competent rider but never an exceptional one. Astride Shadowfax, however, he held himself as if he were the Rider Eorl of legend. Even Glorfindel, the Elf thought to himself, did not sit his stallion with the grace with which Gandalf rode Shadowfax. 'When he smiles', Legolas said to himself, 'he is Gandalf the Grey. When he commands, he is Gandalf the White. But when he rides, he is Gandalf Horsemaster. He shall have as many names as I before the end!'

The Hunters mounted their own steeds and galloped after Gandalf, who had turned his horse's head toward Edoras. As they rode, Gandalf told them how things stood in Meduseld.

"The King's son is dead," he reported soberly.

"Théodred? That is sad news indeed, for he showed great promise as a leader of Men," said Aragorn. "How came this to pass?"

"An ambush along the shores of the Isen. The Orcs who slew him were marked with the device of a White Hand."

"Saruman's device?" guessed Aragorn.

"Aye. You have seen it before?"

"The Orcs we pursued bore the White Hand."

"Did any bear the Eye?"

"Some, but the greater number were from Isengard. Together they set out toward the north, but they soon quarreled. Saruman's Orcs slew the Orcs of Mordor and continued on toward Isengard with Merry and Pippin."

"Saruman's Orcs got the upper _hand_, so to speak," chortled Gimli. Legolas kicked backward and was rewarded with an indignant "Ow!" Ignoring the exchange between Elf and Dwarf, Gandalf continued.

"I am glad to hear that the two bands of Orcs came to blows, for it is all to the good if Sauron and Saruman do not trust each other. It will be hard enough withstanding one army, but if their forces should act in concert…." Here the wizard's voice trailed off, and he urged his horse onward with renewed urgency.

Gandalf spared neither himself nor his companions, and by the time they reined up within sight of Edoras, even Legolas was weary. The Elf forced himself to pay attention, however, as the wizard cautioned them as to what to expect within the walls of the Rohirrim settlement.

"Do not look for the welcome that Théoden's folk were once famous for extending to sojourners within their realm. The King's mind and will are in the keeping of Gríma Wormtongue, a snake-tongued counselor who flatters the King whilst reducing him to helplessness. Since the death of Théodred, Gríma has made it his study to plant doubt in Théoden's mind as to the loyalty of his surviving heir, his nephew Éomer."

"It was Éomer who loaned us these horses," Legolas said.

Gandalf frowned. "Gríma will surely use Éomer's generosity against him. He will tell the King that his nephew has assisted rogues and spies. We shall have to prove otherwise, or things may go ill for that young Man. Be careful what you say!"

The travelers spurred their horses onward and began to climb the tall hill upon which Edoras was situated. As they neared the stockade, Aragorn became aware that before the threshold of the great hall at the hill's summit stood a woman looking out over the plain, her hair and cloak whipped by the incessant wind.

"Éowyn," said Gandalf. "Théoden's niece, and sister to Éomer."

Aragorn looked again at the hall, but the woman was gone. Only the Doorwardens remained.

In silence the travelers rode through the gate, which was open but guarded by Men who offered no words of welcome. Nor were they greeted by any of the townsfolk. As the travelers rode by, the folk of Rohan merely stopped in their tasks and stared at the strangers, their faces either wary or, at best, expressionless.

"I've seen more cheer in a graveyard," muttered Gimli. Legolas had never been in a graveyard, for it was not the custom of Elves to keep such places, but he understood the Dwarf. For Legolas, however, Dunland was the more meaningful comparison. As in that sad place, the impoverished inhabitants of Edoras were suspicious of anyone who might reive them of their small winnings. The children in particular put the Elf in mind of Dunland, for as the travelers drew near, the Rohirrim younglings behaved exactly as Dunlending urchins would. They either scrambled fearfully into huts or peeked out cautiously from behind the skirts of their parents. 'These Man-children are not unfriendly by nature, I reckon', the Elf said to himself, 'but they have been beaten down by foes both natural and man-made'.

When the travelers reached the top of the hill, they entrusted their horses to the ostlers who came silently out to meet them and then ascended the steps to Meduseld, Théoden's Great Hall. Before the entrance to the Hall, their way was blocked by Doorwardens, who were joined by one of the chief members of the King's meinie. "Ah, Háma," said Gandalf, nodding to a retainer whom he knew of old. Háma, however, rather than extend the customary guest-greeting, relayed an order reflective of the hard and dangerous times. "I cannot allow you before Théoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame—by order of Gríma Wormtongue," he declared. To Legolas, though, it seemed that Háma uttered these phrases reluctantly, as if he did not like doing the bidding of the King's counselor.

The Three Hunters tensed. They did not wish to be deprived of their weapons, for they were uncertain of their welcome. Gandalf, however, glanced to either side and nodded. Trusting in the wizard's judgment, Elf, Man, and Dwarf began to unburden themselves of axe and knife, sword and bow. The Doorwardens exchanged puzzled and half-frightened glances as the travelers drew forth a seemingly endless array of weapons. How many axes could one Dwarf carry? they wondered. And that Elf, how is it that he had so many blades? But it was not only the quantity of the weapons but their quality that amazed the guards. That bow, they had never seen one like it, with its elegant tracery. The knife that the Man drew forth, surely it was elvish and therefore dangerous to handle. Perhaps it was perilous even to look upon it! And that large axe, it looked as if it could bring down an oak tree with one stroke.

When Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas had relinquished all their weapons, Gandalf looked expectantly at Háma. The Man cleared his throat. "Your staff," he said gruffly. Gandalf looked hurt. "You would not part an old man from his walking stick!" he exclaimed in a piteous voice.

Beside him, Legolas forced himself to remain impassive on the outside. On the inside, however, he was laughing. 'Why, Gandalf', he said to himself, 'you play the innocent as well or better than ever _I_ did. If wizards go through a childhood, then you were surely the despair of your elders!"

Háma hung fire. On the one hand, his orders were clear. On the other hand, his upbringing demanded that he show deference to the agéd Man who stood before him. The Rohirrim had been a wandering folk and knew what it was to gratefully receive hospitality at the end of a long day on the road. They therefore naturally extended courtesy to travelers. Equally important, one did not disrespect an elder. In the end, a lifetime of training outweighed the orders of Gríma Wormtongue. With a grimace and a resigned shrug, Háma signified his willingness that the wizard and his companions should enter Meduseld.

As Háma turned away, Gandalf looked at Aragorn and winked. Steeling his face to hide his amusement, the Ranger stared forward resolutely. Gandalf then glanced at Legolas and cleared his throat meaningfully Legolas promptly crooked his arm, and Gandalf passed his own limb through it as if he were in need of the support of the young Elf. Watching them, Gimli rolled his eyes and tried not to laugh. 'Don't know which of them is the worse scamp', he chortled to himself. 'One thing's certain, though: fireworks will be busting out any minute now'.

Preceded by Háma, the four companions stepped over the threshold of Meduseld. Once they were within, Háma stepped aside and gestured for the travelers to go on ahead. As they did so, behind them the door resounded as it swung closed. Legolas glanced swiftly over his shoulder and then to either side. Ruffianly Men were slinking alongside each wall. 'Gríma's henchman', the Elf heard Gandalf's voice in his head. 'Mind them'. Legolas had little need of the warning, but he pressed lightly on Gandalf's arm to signal that he had heard. Before them, at the far end of the hall, a decrepit man sat slumped upon a throne set upon a dais. Beside him, whispering, sat Gríma Wormtongue. The companions could guess what the Wormtongue might be insinuating into the ear of the king, but with his elven hearing Legolas knew for a certainty. "My Lord," the counselor was hissing, "Gandalf the Grey is coming. He is a herald of woe."

"The courtesy of your Hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King," called Gandalf, ignoring the presence of Gríma. The King, however, did not respond directly, for his counselor again whispered into his ear. "He is not welcome," prompted Gríma. Obediently, the King broke his silence. "Why should I welcome you—Gandalf Stormcrow?" he rasped, his voice so weak as to be barely audible. He looked at Gríma for his approval, and the counselor nodded like the sycophant he was. "A just question, my liege," he exclaimed unctuously. He arose and stalked toward Gandalf, who had released Legolas's arm. The Elf, now standing behind the wizard, readied himself as he felt the ruffians slinking closer in tandem with their master.

"Late is the hour," sneered Gríma as he neared the small knot of companions, "in which this conjurer chooses to appear. _Láthspell_ I name him, Ill-news; and ill news is an ill guest they say."

Gandalf had been leaning upon his staff, but now he stood erect and raised his staff. "Be silent!" he commanded. "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm."

Dismayed and alarmed, Gimli staggered backward. "His staff. I told you to take the wizard's staff," he shouted angrily. The ruffians rushed Gandalf, confident that their numbers would be enough to overwhelm four unarmed sojourners. They forgot, however, that a body could itself be a weapon. The first to get within striking distance of Gandalf found himself knocked backwards several feet by a block administered by one short but stocky Dwarf who knew exactly how to make the best use of his center of gravity. Using both fists and feet, the Three Hunters flung their foes to the floor and sent them careening into columns. One of the ruffians tried to take Legolas from behind, but the Elf, without even looking back, smashed his elbow into the face of his would-be assailant. Soon, noses bloodied and lips split, all the ruffians were splayed groaning upon the flagstones. Legolas was relieved to see that Háma was not amongst their number. Instead, sensing that the wizard meant no harm, the Man had spent the scuffle restraining a friend of his, Gamling, who would have rushed to the seeming defense of the King. Now, both Men breathing hard, they waited for the outcome of Gandalf's confrontation with the King.

From the outset of the brawl, the wizard had acted as if he did not notice how his allies were protecting him. Instead, confident that his friends 'had his back', Gandalf utterly ignored the fracas and strode forward until he stood only a meter from Théoden. The King regarded him warily, the intelligence in his eyes not that of a doddering old Man. 'Saruman's eyes', Gandalf thought with dismay. 'I must cast him out—no! must make _Théoden_ want to cast him out'.

In awe, Legolas watched as Gandalf set about performing another transformation, but this time upon the King. From time to time the Elf swiftly glanced about to make certain that none of their foes had recovered sufficiently to threaten them. As much as possible, however, his attention remained riveted upon the wizard. 'Why does he not simply utter a word of Command?' the young Elf wondered. Little by little, though, he came to see that what was required was not only an act of magic but of healing—and that the patient had to be willing to cooperate in his own cure.

"Théoden son of Thengel," intoned Gandalf, "too long have you sat in the Shadows." Gandalf looked about and caught Háma's eye. The Man nodded and swiftly strode to the door, commanding that it be opened yet again. As the heavy door swung unwillingly upon its hinges, a trail of light slowly stretched from the threshold to the throne of the King of Rohan. To this light was added a glow that seemed to come from Gandalf himself. He had cast aside his grey robe and stood revealed as a shining figure clad all in white. There were some in the Hall who cast down their eyes, unable to look upon the brilliant light that emanated from the person of the wizard.

As the light, both inner and outer, shone upon Théoden, he flinched and turned away his face.

'Hah!' thought the wizard triumphantly, 'like an Orc, Saruman cannot stand the light of day'. He took a step nearer to the King, who shrank back on his throne. "Hearken to me, Théoden King," he urged. "You are the son of Thengel and descendant of Eorl the Rider! Linger not under the spell of despair."

Théoden's mouth worked as he tried to form words, but when he spoke it was with the voice of Saruman. "You have no power here—Gandalf the _Grey_," he said mockingly.

'You are much mistaken', Gandalf said under his breath. Aloud he said, "In this Hall I have such power as is granted by Théoden King and no other. What say you, my Lord? Will you once again wield the power that your enemies would wrest from you?"

Théoden slowly raised his head and gazed into the face of the wizard with his own eyes. His fists clenched spasmodically. "See, my Lord," Gandalf said encouragingly, "how your hands wish to hold a sword as of old."

Théoden stretched out a withered hand and stared at it wonderingly. 'It is time now', thought Gandalf. He raised his staff. "I will draw you, Saruman," he intoned, "as poison is drawn from a wound." Théoden's body jerked violently as Saruman tried to maintain his hold upon the King, and behind Legolas someone cried out in anguish. The Elf turned in time to see Aragorn seizing the wrist of the woman who had stood before the Great Hall. "Wait!" the Ranger commanded. Awed and confused, the woman stopped struggling momentarily, and Legolas turned back to witness the conclusion of the contest between Gandalf and Saruman.

"If I go, Théoden dies," came Saruman's threat, forced out through lips that were now unwilling to serve as that wizard's mouthpiece.

"You did not kill me," Gandalf said sternly. "You will not kill him."

"Rohan is mine," gasped the voice of Saruman, struggling to be heard.

"Be gone," ordered Gandalf, his voice confident and commanding. Théoden lurched forward, limbs flailing as he and Saruman struggled for control of the King's body. Gandalf closed his eyes and pointed his staff at the throne. His lips moved, but he made no sound. Legolas suddenly had a vision of two wizards stalking toward one another, each clutching an upraised staff. One of them was suddenly cast down upon the floor. The fallen wizard raised up his face from the flagstones. Blood streamed from his nose and upon his visage was a look of disbelief. "Saruman!" exclaimed Legolas aloud, winning him a puzzled look from Gimli.

The Elf was brought back to the Hall by a sudden movement. Aragorn had loosened his grip upon the woman, and she had torn free and was dashing past Legolas. She knelt before the King and took his hands. "I know your face," rasped Théoden, his command of his voice still tenuous. "Éowyn, is it not?"

The King's own face was changing as he spoke. It may have been a trick of the light that now streamed freely into the Hall, but his beard seemed to darken and thicken, his skin grew less mottled, and his eyes cleared. Formerly a film had covered them, as if he had been half-blinded by cataracts, but now they looked keenly about the Hall, taking in everything and everyone.

'They look like Éomer's eyes', Legolas observed. 'Shrewd and intelligent', the Elf added grudgingly. He had neither forgotten nor forgiven Éomer for thinking him a spy!

As the Elf was musing, the King's eyes fell upon Gandalf. The wizard smiled upon him and gestured toward the door. "Breathe the free air again, my friend," he said gently. With Éowyn's assistance, Théoden arose shakily to his feet. "Dark have been my dreams of late," he murmured. Again he gazed wonderingly at his hands. "Your fingers," Gandalf said encouragingly, "would remember their old strength better if they grasped your sword."

Háma had run to fetch Théoden's sword, and now he stepped forward bearing it. Beside him strode Éomer, who had earlier been dismissed from the King's presence at the urging of Gríma. For a moment the eyes of the Elf and the Man met, and to Legolas's surprise, a thin smile briefly quirked the corners of Éomer's mouth. Then the King's nephew turned to Háma. "Permit me," he said to the counselor. Taking the sword, he dropped upon one knee and proffered it to Théoden. "My Lord," he said in a voice in which love and respect mingled. Legolas felt a sudden kinship with the young Man. 'Théoden has been a father unto Éomer', the Elf thought to himself. 'The two were driven apart and are now reunited. I, too, know what it is to be sundered from kin and then restored to them'. When Éomer stepped back from the dais, it was now Legolas who smiled upon the other.

Like Éomer's gesture, however, Legolas's smile was brief. Théoden was no longer Saruman's thrall, but the Kingdom of Rohan still stood in the balance, and Legolas wondered what steps the King would take to secure his realm. The King, newly reawakened to his responsibilities, had much to consider. Again his eyes swept the Hall, and they happened upon—Gríma.


	20. Chapter 20: Snakes on a Plain

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's. In this chapter, I follow Tolkien in having Éomer present at Meduseld when Gandalf and the Three Hunters arrive.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers: _Apsenniel, CAH, Windwraith, _and _Opalkitty_. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates quotations from the book and/or movie versions of _The Lord of the Rings._**

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly, who is amazing in her ability to catch even the smallest discrepancy**

**Chapter 20: Snakes on a Plain**

Gríma had almost succeeded in escaping unscathed from the mêlée that saw his allies tossed about like straws caught in a whirlwind. He had been trying to creep unnoticed from the Hall when Gimli spotted him and placed a strategic foot upon his cloak. The Man had made two or three further attempts to slip away when he thought the Dwarf was preoccupied, but each time Gimli had growled at him warningly. Now the erstwhile counselor cowered as Théoden advanced upon him. Fearfully he eyed the sword that the restored King of Rohan gripped firmly in hands that no longer trembled. 'At last we shall see justice served', Legolas thought to himself. 'Gríma Wormtongue will never again ply his snake's tongue, for Théoden will strike his head from his body'. Legolas was not vengeful by nature, but Gríma was Saruman's creature, and Saruman had sought Gandalf's death. Given that fact, the Elf was not inclined to be charitable. True, he was not outright gleeful at the prospect of Gríma's execution, but he would not turn away in disgust as justice was satisfied by the traitor's death.

Gandalf, however, desired something that transcended simple justice. Urgently he spoke with Théoden, and joined by Aragorn, he counseled that the Wormtongue not be slain. To the contrary: the wizard begged of Théoden that the wretch be proffered an opportunity to make amends for his treachery. To the King's own surprise, as well as to that of his people, Théoden at length agreed. Few, however, were astonished by Gríma's response. He spurned Théoden's offer of mercy, and he spat at the hand of peace that Aragorn stretched out toward him. Yet even then, in deference to Gandalf's wishes, Théoden suffered Gríma to depart unmolested.

As the disgraced counselor fled, Gandalf sighed. The Istar did not look surprised, Legolas thought, but he did look disappointed. Almost immediately, however, the wizard's melancholy expression was replaced by one of resolve. There were matters yet to be addressed. One skirmish had been won, but a war still stretched before them. Scarcely pausing to dine upon a scanty repast of bread and cold meat, Gandalf and Aragorn, Théoden and Éomer sat in conclave. Gimli, meanwhile, seated nearby at one of the long trestle tables, stretched the scanty repast into a more substantial one. Legolas, however, had no appetite for food and waved off Gimli's offer of a slice of cheese from the wheel that the others had ignored in their haste to begin their deliberations. The only appetite Legolas had was for answers. Why had Gandalf not suffered that Gríma be slain? The Elf did not think he would be able to partake of food until his curiosity on this count had been satisfied. Standing with his back to a pillar, his arms crossed before him, Legolas studied Gandalf intently as the Istar earnestly addressed Théoden.

The wizard had seated himself on the right hand of the King, in the chair that had once been Gríma's, and this almost led to a falling out between king and wizard. As he spoke softly and eagerly to Théoden, Gandalf laid his hand upon the armrest of the King's throne. To Théoden, the gesture smacked of Gríma's insinuations, and he looked down pointedly at the wizard's hand. Gandalf caught the glance and smoothly withdrew his arm. 'Once burned, twice shy', thought Legolas. 'Théoden is leery of being again the tool of any Man, even one such as Gandalf, who seeks no gain for himself. Gandalf will urge that the King act in the interests of Middle-earth, but Théoden may spurn his advice, wishing to protect his folk in preference to furthering what he will perceive as a wizard's grand scheme'.

Legolas knew that his suppositions were correct when he saw Gandalf's face as the conversation between king and counselor came to an end. As Gandalf arose, his look was troubled. More than ever the Elf wished that he might speak with his friend, but hours would pass before he would have the opportunity. The council having concluded, Théoden insisted that they now dine properly. Ai! Gandalf sat between Théoden and Aragorn at the head table. Disgruntled, Legolas took his seat beside Gimli. The Dwarf had already eaten well, but he was undaunted at the prospect of a second meal following hard upon the first. 'He's more than half a Hobbit', Legolas thought to himself. 'An overgrown, exceptionally hairy Hobbit'. Unaware of his companion's unhappiness, Gimli cheerfully drained first one and then another flagon of ale. As for Legolas, he twirled his cup in his hands, his first sip having convinced him that ale not only looked like horse piss but tasted like it, too. After a little while, his behavior attracted the attention of the Rohirrim.

"Abstemious fellow," said Gamling, gesturing with his cup in the direction of Legolas. "He seems to think that one must sip ale rather than quaff it. I warrant he'll still be nursing his first cup when the rest of us are on our third."

"Or fourth or fifth!" declared Háma with a laugh.

Éomer studied the Elf thoughtfully. "I wonder," he speculated, a grin slowly spreading across his face, "whether our fair-haired friend has ever had more than one cup of brew o'er the course of an evening."

"I don't reckon he ever has," chortled Gamling.

"'Twould be interesting," mused Éomer, a look of mischief in his eyes, "to see what would happen if he were to imbibe two or three flagons."

"Or four," added Gamling hopefully.

"Better yet, five or six," chimed in Háma, who was truly getting into the 'spirit' of things, if you will.

Ever the decisive leader, Éomer seized a cup in each hand and arose and took several steps in the direction of Legolas. The Rider's plans were interrupted, however, when Gandalf arose and gestured for the Elf to join him as he strode from the Hall.

"Another time," Éomer said regretfully as he resumed his seat. Shrugging, he drained first one and then the other cup before calling for a third.

Gandalf, meanwhile, had gone outside and stood upon the terrace that surrounded the Great Hall on all sides. Abandoning Gimli to his beer, Legolas quickly followed, catching up with the wizard as he drew out his pipe and began to pack its bowl. "Gandalf," Legolas exclaimed in mock indignation, "I hope you have not brought me outside merely in order to subject me to your noxious fumes."

Gandalf chuckled and lit his pipe. "And did you not miss my smoke creatures?" he teased, sending one of said creatures to flutter about the Elf's head. Try as he might, Legolas could not suppress his smile. "Of course I did, mellon-nîn," he admitted. "In truth, on more than one occasion I could have sworn that I saw such creatures hovering about, as if you were still with us in spirit."

"As indeed I was," Gandalf reminded him.

Legolas nodded assent. "When Aragorn told Éomer how far we had run in pursuit of the Orcs, he marveled at it, but I think it must have been your spirit gave us the strength to carry on even in the face of Saruman's ill-will."

Gandalf smiled at the Elf. "I am glad to hear you say that. I pray that my spirit shall continue to serve you in these next days. I fear it may be all I have to offer."

Legolas was dismayed. "You have not seen your death, Gandalf! Tell me you have not!"

Gandalf shook his head. "Nay, I have not. But I must nonetheless leave you for a time."

"You will not accompany us to Helm's Deep?" asked the Elf, puzzled.

"I have an errand lies elsewhere, Legolas," Gandalf answered.

"I shall go with you," Legolas declared.

"You will not," Gandalf said sternly. "Would you abandon Aragorn and Gimli?"

Legolas was abashed. How could he have considered leaving his two friends? But, then, how could he bear to be parted yet again from his teacher and mentor?

Gandalf smiled gently at his young friend. "Legolas, I cannot be everywhere, and neither can you. For my errand, I shall trust to Shadowfax to keep me safe. As for you, your path lies with Aragorn. He will need your support, both that of your hand and of your heart."

Legolas would have continued to argue with the Istar, but the wizard held up his hand and frowned warningly. Legolas sighed and changed tack. "Gandalf," he demanded, "why did you not counsel that Gríma be slain? He is a villain—a traitor who would have delivered his people into the hands of Saruman. If anyone deserved to die, surely it would be Gríma Wormtongue."

The wizard shook his head reprovingly at the impetuous young Elf but said nothing, forcing Legolas, after a few uncomfortable minutes, to begin puzzling things out for himself. "I suppose," he said haltingly, "that you would say that this case is not unlike that of the creature Gollum. After you had learned from the wretch all that you might, you could have ordered him slain. Yet you forbore doing so. You said it was wrong to kill a creature when there was still hope of his restoration. Do you think, then, that Gríma can somehow redeem himself? But I do not see how!"

Gandalf spoke now. "Tell me, Legolas," he asked patiently, "do you believe Gríma past amendment? Indeed, my lad, do you truly believe that there exists any Man utterly incapable of amendment?"

"But the Wormtongue was given a chance to atone for his misdeeds, and he refused! Surely by that he proved himself incapable of amendment. If you cannot see this, then at the very least you must acknowledge that by his refusal he has destroyed any chance that he may be forgiven."

"I must do no such thing," Gandalf replied calmly. "The granting of mercy is in our hands, not his. Would you give him the power to make that decision for us?" As they had spoken, Gandalf's pipe had gone out. Now, the wizard strode to a watch fire and fished out a brand with which to relight his pipe. Puffing upon it, he sent an eagle soaring into the air.

As he stood watching the eagle as it dwindled into the distance, joining a cloud that floated in the otherwise clear air, Legolas puzzled over the riddle that Gandalf had just posed. At length he bethought himself of something else that the wizard had once uttered as they had lazed by campfire on one of their many journeys together. "Upon a time," the young Elf mused aloud, "you said that a creature might deserve to die, but that that was not the heart of the matter—that the question was not whether the wicked deserved to die, but whether his judges deserved to be forced into being killers lacking in mercy. I remember your words clearly now. You said, 'Do you really think, my lad, that a villain should have the power to burden us with his death? We grant him too much if we allow his actions to dictate cruelty and revenge on our part. Better that a wicked man escape than that another wicked man be forged on his account'."

Gandalf nodded approvingly. "You remember well, my son."

"I understand your meaning, Gandalf," Legolas said. "It is true that we do not wish our hands and hearts to be soiled by the blood of a malefactor. But, Gandalf," the Elf continued, "more is at stake than the well-being of we few. Gríma has been set free to do as he will, and what he wills is the destruction of the folk of Rohan. His death would have been the death of one—and a worthless one at that—but now he lives on at liberty to cause the deaths of many. Had he been slain, we would have his blood on our hands; better, though, than the blood of the innocents who may die as a result of his machinations."

"He is free to do harm, and no doubt will," agreed Gandalf. "Many may die as a result. But," he added, "he is also free to do good—and no doubt will. It may be that far more will live as a result."

"Gandalf," cried Legolas, "you have now spoken in such an equivocal fashion that even Galadriel would not know what to make of the conundrum that you pose!"

"Do you really think so?" asked Gandalf, looking uncommonly pleased.

"Gandalf!"

The wizard chuckled. 'I really shouldn't torment the lad', he muttered to himself, 'but it is _such_ an entertainment'. Aloud he said, "Well, well, I suppose I could speak a little more clearly, taking into account that you are _so_ much younger than I."

In point of fact, it was not at all certain that Gandalf was the older in _years_, but he had never relinquished his pretensions to the wisdom that comes with the passage of time.

The Elf's reply startled the wizard, for it sounded rather like one of Gimli's growls.

"Goodness!" exclaimed Gandalf. "You needn't carry on so! I shall explain."

"You had better," retorted Legolas, "or you will soon be wondering where your pouch of pipe weed has gotten to."

Gandalf raised his eyebrows. "I should have thought, Legolas," he said sternly, "that you would have learned by now that trifling with an Istar's pipe weed is a Very Bad Idea."

Legolas subsided. He did indeed know that it was dangerous to tamper with a wizard's weed. He forced himself to remain patient while Gandalf took a few more puffs upon his pipe.

"Now then, Legolas," the wizard said at last, releasing a horse that galloped around the corner, startling a guard. "Now then, Legolas, I am sure you believe that Gríma will make his way straight to Isengard."

Legolas nodded his assent.

"You are right, of course," Gandalf said cheerfully. He puffed several more times upon his pipe. At last Legolas could stand it no longer.

"Aren't you afraid," he exclaimed, "that Gríma will give Saruman information?"

"Oh, I am sure that he will."

"And you are not distressed at the prospect?"

"Certainly not."

"But, Gandalf, what if Saruman should act upon that information!?"

"I am counting upon it," replied the wizard, unperturbed.

Bewildered, Legolas could only stare at the Istar.

"You are no doubt thinking," observed Gandalf, "that it is all to our disadvantage that Gríma should carry news to Saruman. He will tell Saruman both of our strengths and of our weaknesses. Saruman may devise ways to counter the one and to avail himself of other."

"And this does not trouble you?"

"Not at all, my lad. Not at all. Believing himself wise, Saruman will commit his troops to the fray—and better that he should do so the sooner than the later. Thus it is that all Gríma will have accomplished is to bring Saruman into the field on our terms rather than his, at a time of our choosing. You must never forget that the hasty stroke goes oft astray. Or did Glorfindel never teach you this lesson?"

"He did," retorted Legolas, nettled, "but did I not hear Hama tell Théoden that the walls of Helm's Deep need further strengthening? If Saruman rushes into battle unready, could not the same be said of us?"

"In this matter," replied Gandalf, "it is the arms of Men and not walls of stone that will make all the difference. Although," he added, smiling at his young friend, "I do not overlook the role that one Dwarf and one Elf will play."

"So," Legolas said slowly, "you were not altogether motivated by mercy when you allowed Gríma to escape."

"In part I was. But," he continued briskly, "one may be merciful and practical at the same time. Trusting in part upon the word of one Gríma Wormtongue, Saruman will empty out his fortress and send his rabble to face the determined forces of a newly restored Rohan. By the by," he added cheerfully, "that means that no one will be to home when the Ents come calling at Orthanc. My lad, Saruman will rue the day that he listened to the words of a worm. But a man who takes a serpent to his bosom must expect to be bitten, for a snake will lash out at whoever handles it."

Gandalf puffed upon his pipe and blew out a coil of smoke that turned into a snake that slithered across the sky. As the two friends watched the serpent undulate toward the east, the eagle that had ascended into the cloud suddenly stooped and struck the reptile with its talons. The snake exploded into fragments, its smoky scales drifting downward toward the ground like the petals shed by a cherry tree on a windy day in spring.

"Is that a sign, do you think?" Legolas asked hopefully.

"I don't see why it shouldn't be. Let us strive to make it so."

"Make it so?"

"Most signs and omens are recognized after the fact, Legolas," smiled the wizard, "as are the import of our actions. Else I should not have said that Gríma may do good ere the end—for you may be sure that he will not intend to!"

Legolas smiled back at the wizard. Suddenly, though, his face fell. "Gandalf," he said softly, "you jest now, but your face was troubled when you parted from the King."

The wizard nodded. "Aye, lad, for Théoden will not commit his troops in number, place, and manner as Aragorn and I recommend. And it is for that reason that I must ride out on the morrow to marshal such forces as I may to supplement those here in Edoras and those that already garrison the Hornburg. But peace, Legolas! Go and keep your Dwarf company. For surely by now he has devoured everything worth eating, and he will be at a loss as to what to do next. These Men of Rohan are companionable enough, but they know nothing of the care and keeping of Dwarves. So it is up to you to see the welfare of your friend!"

Laughing, Legolas turned and reentered Meduseld, where he found Gimli sadly contemplating the bottom of an empty flagon. "Beer all gone," snuffled the Dwarf mournfully as Legolas pulled him to his feet and guided him to one of the benches that lined the walls of the Great Hall. "All gone," hiccoughed Gimli as Legolas pressed upon his shoulders to make him sit. 'You are pretty far gone yourself', Legolas said under his breath as he unlaced and removed Gimli's boots. Gently he lowered the Dwarf upon the bench and then covered him with one of the fur mantles that were stored under the benches for that purpose. Having tucked in his friend for the night, he made up a bed for himself on an adjacent bench.

When Gandalf reentered the Great Hall, he found Elf and Dwarf sleeping head to head, Legolas apparently untroubled by the fact that Gimli was snoring at least as loudly as usual, and perhaps even more so. The wizard chuckled and made his way over to the bench that Aragorn had saved for him, all the other benches being occupied by weary—or drunken—warriors. He pulled off his boots and dropped them heavily to the floor and then lay down gratefully onto a double layer of furs. As he did so, a slight figure slipped into the hall and made her way toward him. "Do you lack for anything, my Lord?" Éowyn said softly. Gandalf was about to thank her and say that he did not when he realized that the question was directed at Aragorn and not him. 'That was a near one', he thought to himself, glad at having escaped embarrassment. But his concern for his dignity was rapidly replaced by anxiety for Aragorn when he saw how earnestly Éowyn gazed upon the Ranger and how tenderly she addressed him. 'I think', worried the Istar, 'that I shall tell Legolas to leave Gimli to fend for himself tomorrow and to mind Aragorn instead. It seems to me that Théoden's niece evinces altogether too much interest in the Dunadan. Pity, that. She is lively sort who has much in common with our Estel, but it is not his destiny to espouse the Shield Maiden of Rohan." Gandalf sighed. 'Bad enough that I have had to be a snake handler', he grumbled to himself as he drifted into sleep. "Now there is a woman to manage as well!' With one last yawn, he pushed that thought from his mind, but it would not be the last time he would be troubled by it.


	21. Chapter 21: A Tale of Two Horses

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's. In this chapter, I follow Tolkien in having Éomer present at Meduseld when Gandalf and the Three Hunters arrive.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers: _Apsenniel, CAH, Windwraith, Tinnuial, The Inebriated Lion-Minion, _and _Opalkitty_. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates quotations from the book and/or movie versions of _The Lord of the Rings._**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_, who is amazing in her ability to catch even the smallest discrepancy**

**Chapter 21: A Tale of Two Horses **

With the vigor of a much younger Man, Gandalf strode rapidly toward the stable. Aragorn and Legolas kept pace with him, but Gimli trailed behind, grumbling at having been pulled unceremoniously from the bench where he had snored away the night. Legolas, however, had been unmoved by his complaints. "Gandalf departs this morning," the Elf fretted, "and he will have no companion. I like it not that he should venture himself alone upon these plains. What if he should be pursued by Saruman's minions?"

"He would outrun them. Not even the most tireless of Uruk-hai could outpace that giant horse of his," the Dwarf had replied curtly as he struggled with his boots. "In any case, I am sure our wizard has his reasons for deeming that we should remain with Théoden's folk."

Gimli was of course correct. Legolas had arisen early that morning and gone to Gandalf to renew his plea that he should be permitted to accompany the wizard. Gandalf, however, had once again patiently explained to the young Elf that Théoden would need every arm able to bear weapon, whether sword, bow, or axe. "You will be much more useful at Helm's Deep than gadding about the Plains of Rohan," he had said to Legolas.

"_You_ will be gadding about the Plains of Rohan," Legolas retorted.

"Ah, but that's different, my lad. I have a _reason_ for gadding about."

"I have a reason as well," argued Legolas. "Protecting you is a reason."

"When have I ever been in need of your protection," objected Gandalf indignantly.

"I can think of several occasions," Legolas said, grinning in spite of himself. "For one, have you forgotten the time you entered Shelob's lair?"

"I have forgotten nothing," huffed the wizard. "When I regained consciousness, I should have escaped that web."

"_If _you had regained consciousness, you might have."

"There are no such webs on the Plains of Rohan," the wizard shot back, but suddenly he looked uneasy. "Legolas," he said worriedly, "there was so much that I meant to tell Frodo before we parted. I would have warned him about Cirith Ungol and Shelob's lair. I do hope that if he went that way…." The wizard's voice trailed off and he stood in thought for several minutes. Then he rallied. "Of course," he said briskly, "Sam is with him. Sam will look out for Frodo."

Legolas saw his chance and seized it. "You see," he declared triumphantly. "Frodo has someone to look out for him, and so should you!"

Gandalf glowered at him. "Legolas Thranduilion, of all Elves you are the most vexatious." He shook his staff at the young Elf. Now begone before I affix a beard to your face!"

"You don't fight fair," Legolas protested.

"Men have a saying," proclaimed Gandalf with mock sententiousness, "that 'all's fair in love and war'—and we are at war, I hope you've noticed!"

With a grimace, Legolas gave over 'wizard wheedling', as Merry had taken to calling the Hobbits' futile efforts at inveigling information from the taciturn Istar during the Fellowship's time together in Rivendell. Although he did not take Gandalf's threat seriously, Legolas had to admit to himself that further importuning of the irascible wizard would do no good. So, as Aragorn had bade him, he set about rousing the Dwarf so that all three Hunters would see Gandalf off after an early breakfast.

Now it was Gandalf who was fretting as he stood beside Shadowfax stroking the horse's neck—whether to calm himself or the horse Legolas was not sure. "The Grey Pilgrim," Gandalf muttered. "That's what they used to call me. Three hundred lives of Men I've walked this earth, and now I have no time." He swung himself atop Shadowfax and addressed a few final words to Aragorn, concluding with the adjuration that the Ranger should look for the wizard's return in less than a week—if return he would. "At dawn, look to the east," were the last words the wizard uttered.

Aragorn nodded and stepped aside. Gandalf urged the horse forward. Legolas still stood in the aisle, and the young Elf sprang back and raised his arm to protect his face from the mud thrown up by the hooves of Gandalf's steed. Gimli opened his mouth to tease the Elf over his near encounter with dirt, but he saw his friend's troubled expression. He cleared his throat. "Powerful horse, that."

"Yes, Gimli," Legolas replied distractedly.

"A real behemoth."

"Aye, Gimli," Legolas replied mechanically.

"More of an oliphaunt than a horse, actually."

Legolas looked directly at Gimli for the first time. "What are you on about, Gimli?"

"Horse like that, any creature got in its way would be squashed flatter than a dinner platter."

Legolas permitted himself to smile. "I know what you are trying to do, Gimli, and I thank you. I suspect, though, that even an oliphaunt could be brought down by a few well-placed arrows."

"Aye, if there were an Elf on hand to shoot said arrows. I don't reckon there's an Orc hereabouts with the necessary aim."

Legolas considered. "It is true," he conceded, "that it is more difficult to hit a moving target than a stationary one—and I do not expect that Gandalf will allow any grass to grow beneath the hooves of his steed."

"There, now!" exclaimed Gimli. "So leave off your worrying. Let's eat!"

Smiling in spite of himself, Legolas accompanied the Dwarf back into Meduseld, where Gimli set about 'filling in the corners of his stomach', as he put it. Legolas had no desire for a second breakfast, but he obliged the Dwarf by keeping him company.

By the time Gimli pronounced himself satisfied, all of Edoras was astir as the Rohirrim packed whatever was needful for the trek to Helm's Deep, where the King intended that they should make their stand against the forces of Saruman. Aragorn was nowhere in sight. No doubt he was closeted somewhere taking counsel with Théoden. Legolas and Gimli went outside the Hall and occupied themselves with helping any of Théoden's folk who seemed in need of aid. Háma and Gamling strode about urging the folk not to pack overmuch. "Carry only what is needful," Háma said to one old Man who staggered under the weight of a bed frame. "My wife is ill," the agéd Man said piteously. "I do not wish her to languish upon the hard, cold stone of the caverns beneath the Hornburg." Gimli was near, helping a Man repair a wagon wheel. He cleared his throat. "Now then, Grandfather," he harrumphed, "you just find me a few odd pieces of wood once we are at Helm's Deep, and I vow to you that my axe shall shape them into a comfortable cot for your wife."

"Thank you, Master," the old Man said gratefully. Gimli waved his hand dismissively. "I do not wish my axe to lose its bite," he said. "A taste of wood will serve to whet its appetite."

Legolas bent his head over a basket into which he was packing foodstuffs and struggled not to laugh at the Dwarf's attempt to appear gruff and indifferent. "Is there anything else I may do for you, Mother?" he said at last to the woman who labored beside him. She shook her head, too shy to address him or even to raise her eyes and look upon him. Her infant toddled near, and she snatched up the child and hid her face in its curls. "Good fortune to you, Mother," Legolas said gently. The Elf looked about for someone else who might need assistance and saw two children standing as if dazed beside a horse. He approached them carefully, with slow movements. "What are your names, young ones?" he asked. The younger of the pair, a girl, buried her face in her brother's tunic. "I am Éothain," the boy said hesitantly, "and this is my sister Freda."

"Well, Éothain, and where are your parents?"

"Our village was attacked," the boy said sadly. "Mama told us to ride for Edoras, but she has not come after." Beside him his sister gave a sob. She lifted her face from her brother's tunic.

"I did not want to go," she cried, "and I told Mama that Papa said Éothain was not to ride Garulf because he was too big for him. But Mama made us go!"

"I think," suggested Legolas, "that your Mama knew that Garulf was too big for Éothain but not too big for the two of you together. And your Mama was right, wasn't she, for here you both are."

The little girl considered and then nodded solemnly.

"And now together you shall journey on to Helm's Deep, where you may perhaps find your mother," Legolas continued. "Master Gamling has told me that many folk have taken refuge at that stronghold. Here, let us bridle Garulf so that he may bear you hence."

Éothain fetched the horse's tack, and Legolas helped the boy fasten the straps. Then the Elf led horse and children to the woman he had been assisting earlier.

"Mother," he said, nodding toward Éothain and Freda, "may these two young ones travel with you? Their horse can bear some of your bundles."

The woman looked at the two forlorn children, and her own fear seemed the less.

"I should look after them even had they no horse to offer," she replied, speaking with a boldness that she had not known she possessed. She looked the Elf directly in the face for the first time. "You were kind to me, Master. You were kind to me and mine, and you needn't have been, for you are a stranger to this land and my folk are as nothing to you. 'Twould be poor of me if I accepted your aid and then turned about and refused to help another." With that, she blushed at her audacity and lowered her eyes.

"I see now," said Legolas gravely, "why foes break upon Rohan like waves upon the rocky shore of the Great Lake. Man and woman, the Rohirrim are a stout folk." He bowed low to the woman and then strode away, leaving her both amazed and proud.

"Well, now," she said, recovering her voice and turning to the children. "And your names are?"

"Éothain and Freda," the boy said promptly, his spirits, too, having been revived by the kindness of the Elf.

"Be you hungry?"

"Yes, Aunt," the two children answered in unison.

"Then I shall fix you somewhat to eat. Éothain, whilst I do so, do you think you could lade the horse with a few of those bundles?"

"Yes, gladly," Éothain answered quickly. He was pleased to be given a task within his strength, for he wished to serve his folk in some way, however small.

"What may I do?" Freda asked eagerly, for she shared her brother's desire to be of use.

"Would you mind the babe for me?" the woman replied.

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Freda. She carefully took the baby in her arms and came to stand by the side of the woman as she fed the small cookfire with twigs. "Mama says," the child confided, "that soon we may have a baby of her own. We had a little brother upon a time, but he died. I remember him. Mama says that there was another one before him, but he died as well. I don't remember him, but Éothain says he does."

Her words were proof of the casualness with which death entered each household, and they awoke within the woman a deep protectiveness. 'These two shall not die', she resolved to herself. 'I will see them safe to Helm's Deep. I swear it. Aye, to the Goddess of Births and Beginnings, I swear it.'

While the woman was forming this resolve, Legolas was looking about for his companions. Háma passed by, leading a horse. "If you are seeking your friends," he called, "Lord Aragorn at least is within the Great Hall." Legolas thanked him and ascended the steps to Meduseld. Within was a great hubbub as Théoden's household packed such goods as they would need as well as a few heirlooms of the House of Eorl. From the door, Legolas observed Éowyn bending over a chest. When she straightened, the king's niece held a sword. She sighted along its edge and hefted it, as if judging its balance. As Legolas watched impressed, she put the sword through a series of maneuvers that would have won praise from Glorfindel himself.

As Éowyn swung the sword, Aragorn approached her from behind. Sensing the intruder, the woman of Rohan suddenly pivoted and brought down her upraised sword. Faster than sight, the Ranger drew the blade gifted him by Celeborn and parried the blow. Éowyn stood, breathing hard, her eyes locked with Aragorn's.

"You have some skill with the blade," the Dunadan said evenly, as if it were an everyday matter to match blades with the kinswoman of a king.

Éowyn turned from him to replace the sword in its scabbard. "The woman of this land learned long ago," she said over her shoulder, "that those without swords may still die upon them. I fear neither death nor pain." She turned to face the Ranger.

"What do you fear my lady?" he said dispassionately.

"A cage," she replied. "To stay behind bars until use and old age accept them and all chance of valor has gone beyond recall or desire."

It was hard to read Aragorn's expression. Legolas thought he saw both pity and understanding.

"You are the daughter of kings," the Man said softly, "a shield-maiden of Rohan. I do not think that will be your fate."

The heir to the throne of Gondor bowed to the Lady Éowyn and walked away, nodding to Legolas as he passed him and went outside. Legolas looked back at the maiden and marked how she gazed longingly after the Ranger. 'If Gandalf were here', the Elf thought to himself, 'he would be troubled by that look. It is a pity that Éowyn has led a life trammeled by her duties as Théoden's niece, but Aragorn will not be the one to mend her misery'.

Gimli stepped into view as the Elf stood meditating. "O ye princeling," chided the Dwarf teasingly, "this be no time to stand about mooning like a love-sick swain." Smirking, the Nauga wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "And _you_ no doubt," the Elf retorted with a smile, "have been hard at work seeing to the disposition of the ale." Gimli was unperturbed. "Packing and lading are dry work," he replied serenely. Before Legolas could reply, someone entered the Hall calling for Gimli. "Master Dwarf," came the shout, "there's another wagon wheel needs mending." At once Gimli was all business. "Later, lad," he grunted as he strode swiftly past Legolas back out into the sun. Legolas looked after the Dwarf fondly. 'If I ever lose the title of _scamp _to anyone', the Elf laughed to himself, 'it will be to Gimli'. He followed the Dwarf outside. As he emerged into the light, he heard a voice call him and turned to see Éomer approaching. The Man had lost nothing of his forthrightness of manner. "We are apportioning out the remaining horses," he said briskly. "You and the Dwarf have shared a steed. If you wish, you could be mounted separately."

Legolas shook his head. "Thank you, Éomer, but Gimli has no horsecraft."

Éomer shrugged. "As you wish." He turned and strode toward the stable. Legolas fell into step beside him.

"I should see to Arod."

"You do not trust our ostlers?"

Legolas glanced at Éomer and saw that the Man was grinning.

"I fear," smiled the Elf, "that they will take such prodigious good care of Arod that he will be loath to be once more in my keeping."

The Man laughed. "Aragorn spoke the truth, then. He swore to me that, appearances to the contrary, you are not altogether lacking in humor."

"I am grateful," deadpanned Legolas, "that Aragorn gave me such a rousing character."

Before Éomer could reply, he was hailed by one of the Riders, who informed him that his uncle craved his counsel. Bidding the Elf good day, he turned back toward the Great Hall. Legolas walked on in the direction of the stable. As he neared it, he heard a hubbub of shouts and the unmistakable sound of hooves kicking against wood. He looked in at the door. With his back to him stood Aragorn, watching as two stablemen tried in vain to control a rearing stallion, each pulling hard upon a rope. Legolas could tell from the set of his shoulders that his friend was greatly affected by the horse's distress. The Man took a step toward the plunging steed, but one of the Rohirrim called out a warning.

"That horse is half mad, my lord," declared the ostler. "There's nothing you can do. Leave him."

Aragorn was undeterred. Slowly he approached the horse, all the while talking softly. "Fæste. Stille nú. Fæste. Stille nú," he murmured in what sounded to Legolas like an incantation. _Steady. Be calm now. Steady. Be calm now._ The Ranger slowly raised his hand toward the horse's muzzle. The stallion snorted but did not try to bite him. Aragorn took a rope from the hand of one of the ostlers, who gladly backed away. "Lac is drefed. Gefrægon," Aragorn murmured to the horse, his voice sympathetic. _Battle is stirred up. All have heard._

To the amazement of the stablemen, the horse calmed a little further. Aragorn signaled to the second hostler that he should drop his rope. With nothing to fight against, the horse grew even more manageable and allowed Aragorn to stroke his neck.

"Hwæt nemnað ðe? Hm? Hwæt nemnað ðe?" said the Ranger soothingly. _What is your name? Hm? What is your name?_

Eowyn came to the door of the stall where she had been tending to her own horse. "His name is Brego," she called. "He was my cousin's horse," she added sadly.  
"Brego," Aragorn repeated thoughtfully. "Ðin nama is cynglic," he said to the horse. _Your name is kingly._ Unconsciously, Aragorn slipped from the Common Speech into the elvish of his childhood. "Man le trasta, Brego?" he murmured. "Man cenich?" _What troubles you, Brego? What did you see? _The horse had not been raised by the Fair Folk, but he behaved as if he understood, tossing his head once and then standing placid and submissive.

Éowyn was awestruck. "I have heard of the magic of Elves," she ventured, "but I did not look for it in a Ranger from the North. You speak as one of their own."

Aragorn gave a noncommittal shrug. "I was raised in Rivendell for a time." He addressed one of the ostlers. "Turn this fellow free. He's seen enough of war."

Stepping back, Aragorn saw Legolas.

"I am returning to the Great Hall," he called to the Elf.

"I will tend to Arod, Aragorn, and then I shall join you. If you see Gimli, tell him I will be along shortly."

Aragorn nodded and strode from the stable. Quickly, Éowyn put away her currying brush and followed after. Legolas frowned at her hasty departure but went into Arod's stall and set about grooming him. He had hardly begun, however, when one of the ostler's gave a shout. The Man had been trying gingerly to lay hold of Brego's leading rein, but once Aragorn had departed, the horse had become as skittish as formerly. He reared, and the Man dove to one side, leaving the path to the doorway unobstructed. Brego broke for the opening. Plunging through it, he galloped down the hill. The gates of Edoras were unbarred, for the evacuation of the settlement had begun in earnest. Astonished folk scattered before the charging stallion, and then he was upon the plain, galloping westward.

At the ostler's shout, Legolas had sprung from Arod's stall, and standing at the door of the stable, he watched wistfully as the horse grew small in the distance until even his elven eyes had difficulty descrying the steed. The young Sinda wondered if he would ever again see the mighty stallion, and that thought put him in mind of Shadowfax.

'That's two horses I'd give a lot to gaze upon once more', he sighed to himself. 'And the rider', he added to himself. 'Horse and rider, safe beyond question—that is what I desire. Will it come to pass, I wonder'.

The Elf's reverie was interrupted by the ostler, who had come to stand by him. "I hope," the Man worried, "that the horse doesn't get his rope tangled about a bush."

"If his reins become so entangled," Legolas said wryly, "then I should be sorry for the bush!" With that, the Elf returned to Arod. Quickly he completed his grooming of the horse, and then he hastened back to Meduseld, to the two friends whose whereabouts and safety were unquestioned. For how much longer, however, the Elf could not be certain.


	22. Chapter 22: A Cure for Hiccoughs

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's. In this chapter, I follow Jackson in having the Rohirrim attacked by warg-riders on their way to Helm's Deep.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers: _Elfinabottle, CAH, The Inebriated Lion-Minion, _and _fair rider_. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates quotations from the book and/or movie versions of _The Lord of the Rings._**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_, who is amazing in her ability to catch even the smallest discrepancy**

**Chapter 22: A Cure for Hiccoughs **

Legolas paced several hundred feet ahead of the main column. Some of the folk of Rohan were horsed, but many were afoot, and at the pace at which they were traveling, the Elf could scout as effectively on foot as on horse, and even more so if there were no Dwarf to distract him. So, leaving Gimli to chatter happily with Éowyn, Legolas had made his way on foot past the head of the column. Gimli had for once taken little notice of the departure of his friend. The Dwarf, an amused Legolas thought to himself, would never recover from the enchantment laid upon him by the Lady of Lórien; still and all, that did not prevent Gimli from enjoying the company of the shield-maiden of Rohan, and she seemed to take pleasure in his company as well. 'I would never have expected Gimli to be flirtatious', Legolas thought to himself, 'but so he has proved to be! Ah, well, at least his attentions to the lady may distract her from her infatuation with Aragorn, even if only for a little while'.

Shouts and laughter attracted Legolas's attention, and he glanced back to see Arod galloping free and Gimli sprawling helplessly upon his back, waving his limbs about like an upended beetle. The Elf saw at once, however, that there was no reason for him to retrace his steps. A Rider quickly rode after Arod and, seizing the horse's trailing bridle, led him back to the column. As for Gimli, Éowyn hurried to him and helped him to his feet, brushing the dirt from his back and shoulders. Shaking his head, Legolas smiled at the scene. He had been surprised when the Dwarf had insisted on remaining horsed when the Elf dismounted, but he was now sure that Gimli had done so in order to avoid losing face with Éowyn. Well, the Nauga had managed to keep horsed for the better part of an hour, no small feat for a Dwarf who a week earlier had never been upon a horse.

Then Legolas caught sight of two other riders who made him smile. Together Éothain and Freda rode upon Garulf, perched securely amidst bundles, some of which the Elf himself had helped pack. The horse was led by a Man, no doubt the husband of the woman who had taken in the children, for she walked by the Man's side, her infant on her hip. Reluctantly wresting his attention away from this pleasing domestic scene, Legolas returned to scanning the horizon. For the time being, all seemed well.

For several hours Legolas had scouted in this fashion when suddenly he grew uneasy. Intently he studied the horizon, looking for some sign of a threat that he was convinced would soon break over the column, for he felt its presence as surely as he had felt the looming menace of the Uruk-hai at Parth Galen.

After a while, Gamling and Háma took the point, cantering past the Elf, who stood vigilant upon a rise. Suddenly the Men's horses balked.

"What is it, Háma?" called Gamling in perplexity as he struggled to control his stallion as it snorted and shied, the source of its distress unseen.

"I don't know," Háma called back, likewise struggling to control his steed.

Still unsure as to the direction from which danger would arise, Legolas checked the tautness of his bowstring and continue to gaze about. He was scanning the southern horizon when a terrified shout caused him to spin about and look back toward Gamling and Háma. Down a cliff leapt a warg, upon its back a leering Orc. Beast and rider crashed into Háma's steed, the impact breaking the horse's neck and flinging its rider to the ground. With arrow nocked, Legolas sprinted toward the beleaguered Man, but Gamling's panicked stallion bolted into the Elf's line of fire, and before Háma had a chance to rise and attempt a defense, the warg had crushed him within its powerful jaws. Tossing the dead Man aside, the warg now threatened Gamling, trying to bring down his stallion, but by now Legolas had a clear shot. With one carefully aimed arrow he slew the beast, and now the Orc in his turn was thrown from his mount. Having deprived the Orc of his advantage, Legolas drew one of his twin blades and closed with his foe, and with one stroke slew him. Kicking the carcass to free his knife, Legolas shouted back toward the column, "A scout!"

Aragorn had run forward at the sound of the skirmish. Now he turned and sprinted back toward the column. "What is it? What do you see?" shouted Théoden.

"Wargs! We are under attack!" Aragorn called in reply as he made for his horse. At once the refugees were thrown into a panic. Woman screamed and children wailed. Théoden, however, demonstrated the decisiveness of a leader. "All Riders to the head of the column!" he commanded as he urged his horse forward. Stalwart and loyal, the Riders of Rohan spurred their steeds to follow in his wake. With them came Gimli, who had somehow managed to clamber back atop Arod.

Legolas, meanwhile, had taken up his position upon a hill from which he could see the onrushing wave of wargs and Orcs. Calmly he waited until beasts and riders came within bowshot and in short order he had picked off two wargs. As he reached for a third arrow, he heard the Rohirrim horses bearing down upon him. Spinning about, the Elf locked eyes with Arod, who swerved toward him. One arm clutching his bow, Legolas reached for the headstall with the other and swung himself into the air, pivoting his hips to fling a leg over the horse's back. Gimli threw back his body to allow the Elf a clear shot at the horse, and later Legolas would praise him for his quick-thinking. For now he was intent upon guiding Arod with his legs while using his arms to get off shot after shot. He was, however, dimly aware that Gimli, anxious to avoid throwing off the Elf's aim, was not clutching him about the middle as he usually did, and for this Legolas was also grateful.

The Elf's gratitude turned to concern, though, when Gimli inevitably lost his balance and toppled from the horse. Anxiously Legolas glanced over his shoulder, trying to descry his friend within the maelstrom of charging horses and rampaging wargs. To his relief, he saw the Dwarf scrambling to his feet and taking a firm grip upon his axe. At that moment, the Elf caught sight of a warg charging toward Éomer, who had his back toward the beast. Taking his eyes off Gimli for the moment, Legolas quickly got off a shot. As the beast collapsed, it crashed into Éomer's horse, and the stallion fell to its knees before recovering and surging back to its feet. Skilled rider though he was, Éomer almost lost his grip upon his horse, but he recovered as swiftly as his steed. Glancing at the fallen warg, the Man saw that the arrow was elven, and he shot a glance of thanks at Legolas before galloping back into the midst of the fray.

When Legolas looked again for Gimli, the Dwarf was brandishing his axe at a snarling warg that, riderless, bore down upon him. Gimli appeared undaunted, matching the beast growl for growl. "Bring your pretty face to my axe!" he grunted, hefting his weapon. To Legolas, however, the beast looked overlarge for a Nauga, and drawing his bow, he urged his horse toward his endangered friend. As the warg charged toward the Dwarf, Legolas let fly, and the beast crashed to the ground. Its momentum carried it forward a little so that it ploughed a furrow in the dirt until it rested at the very feet of the Dwarf. Gimli was furious at having been denied his moment of mastery. "That one counts as mine!" he shouted indignantly at the back of the Elf as Legolas galloped off toward Gamling, who was beset by three foes.

Gimli's disappointment was to be short-lived, however. As he turned about to look at the fallen warg, a second one leaped over the carcass of the first and charged at him. With a roar of satisfaction, Gimli gave a mighty swing that caught the warg in the throat, killing it instantly. The Dwarf's triumph, however, was as short-lived as his disappointment had been. Like the first warg, this second one was carried forward by its momentum, and it crashed into Gimli, knocking the Dwarf from his feet and landing on top of him. Pinned by the weight of the beast, Gimli pushed ineffectually at the carcass, his struggles made frantic by his desire to rejoin the battle. As he strove to free himself, however, the battle came to him. An Orc crawled over the top of the carcass, leering down at the Dwarf and raising a blood-stained knife. Gimli could not reach his axe, but as he had proved at Edoras, his body itself was a weapon. Swiftly, with both hands he seized the head of the Orc and wrenched it to one side, breaking its neck. The Orc slumped forward—and added its weight to that of the warg. Gimli groaned, crushed by the burden of beast and rider and sickened by their combined stench. He renewed his struggle to free himself, but just as he thought he had managed to worm his way a few inches toward freedom, another creature clambered over the pile of carcasses. This was yet another warg, teeth bared in a deadly grin, its yellowed fangs festooned with gobbets of flesh from the already slain. Gimli's eyes widened, and his mouth formed an 'o'. Legolas was nowhere in sight, but if he had been, the Dwarf would not have stood upon his dignity.

Fortunately for Gimli's skin, if not his dignity, Aragorn was fighting nearby. As he sliced an Orc's head from its shoulders, he descried the Dwarf's peril. Hastily switching his sword to his left hand, he urged Hasufel into a gallop, reaching out with his right hand as they passed a spear that stood upright, it head embedded in the back of an Orc. The Ranger threw the spear in almost the same moment as his hand had closed upon it. The projectile struck the warg in the chest, piercing its heart as it was on the verge of leaping upon the trapped Dwarf. It collapsed atop the pile of carcasses, and the added weight forced an 'oof' from the mouth of the unfortunate Nauga. As for Aragorn, he returned at once to the battle. Relying once more upon his sword, he and Hasufel wove in and out of knots of foes. Gimli did not see him again.

The battle had moved on, and Gimli at last succeeded in inching his way out from under the noisome carcasses. Once free, he set about dispatching wounded wargs and Orcs. Methodically he examined each body for any sign of life, and he brought his axe down hard upon the neck of any survivor, taking the trouble to kill each cleanly. He had this in common with Legolas: he would inflict no unnecessary pain.

It was Legolas's voice the Dwarf now heard calling. "Aragorn," the Elf shouted, looking all about for his friend. Gimli looked up from the warg he had just slain. "Aragorn," he bellowed. He began to wander the field and heard other voices shouting the name of the Ranger, among them Théoden's. A Rider limped up to Gimli. "I saw your friend dragged by a warg," he reported breathlessly.

"Dragged by a warg!" exclaimed Gimli, horrified. He had images of a crushed and mangled Aragorn.

"The beast didn't have him by the jaws," the Man hastily clarified. "His hand was caught in the beast's harness, I think."

Gimli hastened to Legolas, who was examining drag marks that led away from the battle and towards the brink of a cliff. As he was following them, the Elf passed a dying Orc, who let out a gurgling laugh. Gimli strode to the Orc. Standing over him, he hefted his axe. "Tell me what happened," the Nauga demanded, "and I will ease your passing."

The Orc's reply was gasped through blood-rimmed lips. "He's dead," coughed the dying creature, grinning evilly in spite of the pain. "He took a little tumble off the cliff," he coughed.

Legolas looked towards the edge of the cliff and then bent down over the Orc, seizing the front of his tunic and pulling him partially upright. "You lie!" he exclaimed heatedly.

Again the Orc made a sound half between a gurgle and a laugh, and then the creature's head fell back. Legolas thrust the dead Orc away from him and stood staring down at the carcass. The Elf spied a glint in the half-opened claw of the creature. Pushing past the limp fingers, the Sinda drew forth a broken chain from which dangled a pendant. It was the Evenstar. Arwen had gifted Aragorn that gem on the eve of the Fellowship's departure from Rivendell, and the Ranger ever wore it about his neck.

For several moments Legolas stared at the pendant, which was flecked with the black blood of the Orc who had torn it from Aragorn's neck. Then he strode swiftly to the edge of the cliff. Far below water boiled over boulders. There was no sign of Aragorn.

Staring down in disbelief, Legolas was hardly aware that Gimli had come to stand by him. Nor did he take note of Théoden, not until the King spoke and the words forced their way past ears not willing to hear them. Gamling, face etched with shock and exhaustion, approached the King, awaiting orders. Théoden looked about the scene of their costly victory. He nodded acknowledgment to Gamling. "Get the wounded on horses," he ordered. He paused, his eyes taking in the many Men who would ride no more. When Théoden spoke again, it was with an effort. "The wolves of Isengard will return. Leave the dead."

Legolas swiftly turned his head to stare at Théoden. Leave the fallen? They were going to leave the fallen? The Elf's eyes were filled with pain and confusion.

Théoden was a Man accustomed neither to giving nor receiving comfort. Awkwardly, he raised a gloved hand and dropped it upon the young Elf's shoulder. "Come," he said roughly. Gimli, looking on, could see the sadness and sympathy in the eyes of the King, but he was not certain the Elf was aware of anything beyond the sorrow that enveloped him. Suddenly Gimli felt a stab of fear. Was there anything to the tale told amongst Dwarfs that Elves were so delicate that they would fade from sorrow? For him this had been a matter for humor, an amusing story passed about like a flagon of ale. What if the tale were true?

Legolas had returned to staring over the edge of the cliff as if he were mesmerized by the swirling water below. Gently Gimli urged him away from the edge. "Arod is running wild, lad," said the Dwarf. "We mustn't abandon him."

Legolas spoke then. "Why not?" he said sadly. "We are abandoning Aragorn."

Gimli did not know what to say, so he acted instead. Taking a firm grip on Legolas's arm, he led him away from the brink. Legolas did not resist, but the Dwarf did not find his complacency to be reassuring. 'Listlessness—now that would be a bad sign, wouldn't it?' the Dwarf fretted. 'Still and all', he said to himself, watching as Legolas gentled their horse, 'the Elf did not pass away from grief when Gandalf fell. Of course', Gimli reminded himself, 'now it's two of them gone. Aragorn is no more, and it's not certain that Gandalf will return to us. And this place is no Lothlórien, where the grief-stricken may find solace no matter how great their loss'. Still worrying, Gimli's thoughts were interrupted by a voice near at hand. "Master Dwarf," called a Man, "would you help me mount this horse?" Gimli turned toward the voice and winced when he saw a Man with an injured leg who was trying to mount Hasufel. Swallowing and casting an apologetic look at Legolas, Gimli went to the Man and boosted him into the saddle of what had been Aragorn's horse. Then, head down, he walked over to where Legolas waited upon Arod. Without a word, the Elf reached down a hand and pulled Gimli up behind him. At the command of the King, the column of survivors moved out.

For several minutes Elf and Dwarf rode in silence, and Gimli was afraid even to grasp Legolas about the waist. Instead, he balanced precariously, each hand gripping a handful of the horse blanket.

At last Legolas spoke. "Gimli, your bobbing about back there makes it harder for me to manage Arod."

Gimli cleared his throat and carefully placed a hand to either side of Legolas's waist, and they rode on in that fashion in silence for a little while longer. Suddenly, impulsively, the Dwarf flung his arms about the Elf and gave a great squeeze. Legolas gave an equally great gasp. "Sorry, lad," Gimli said shamefacedly, easing his grip.

"You needn't apologize, Gimli. You weren't holding on tightly enough—although you needn't hold on so tightly as to stifle me! But do keep a secure grip. I don't want—." Here the Elf paused, his voice catching in his throat before he continued in a rush. "I don't want to lose you, too!" he finished.

Gimli gave another squeeze, gentler this time. "You know little of Dwarves," he growled with counterfeit gruffness. "It is unheard of for a Dwarf to abandon a treasure. Once having laid hands upon something of value, a Dwarf will fight to the death rather than see it wrested from his grasp. And I will have you know that, that—that this is a very fine tunic I have got ahold of. Yes, a very fine tunic, no doubt exceptionally valuable, and I am not letting go of it!"

Gimli heard a funny noise coming from the Elf. "Legolas?" said the Dwarf anxiously.

"It's nothing, Gimli," gulped Legolas.

"Are you certain, lad?" asked Gimli suspiciously. "Sounds like you've got a rare case of hiccoughs. I can cure that, you know."

"How, Gimli?"

"Give you a squeeze about the middle," the Dwarf replied promptly.

"Do you put such great stock, then" Legolas said dryly, "in the curative power of squeezing folk about the middle?"

"I will allow as how miruvor and even athelas may be better for many ills, but for hiccoughs there is in fact nothing better than a well-placed squeeze."

"Very well, Gimli," said Legolas gravely, "you may administer said curative."

Gimli proceeded to do so, although, in point of fact, Legolas seemed to have recovered from the hiccoughs, if that indeed is what had ailed him. Perhaps, however, it was the gentle squeeze that Gimli gave the Elf from time to time that prevented said hiccoughs from returning as the column, much reduced, sadly wended on its way to Helm's Deep.


	23. Chapter 23: What Dreams May Come

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's. In this chapter, I follow Jackson in having Éowyn present at Helm's Deep, as well as in having Aragorn missing after an attack by warg-riders. I follow Tolkien, however, in having Éomer present.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers: _Elfinabottle, CAH, The Inebriated Lion-Minion, Opalkitty, pixiespryte, _and _fair rider_. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates quotations from the book and/or movie versions of _The Lord of the Rings._**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_**

**Chapter 23: What Dreams May Come**

Battered and bedraggled, the column of warriors clattered into the forecourt before the Hornburg, the fortress that was the dominant feature of Helm's Deep. They were met by the women and children who had fled to safety whilst the warriors had fought their rearguard action. As the Riders dismounted wearily, worried women threaded their way through the throng in search of fathers, sons, brothers. All too often wails arose as family members discovered that a loved one had fallen upon the plain, his body left behind to be despoiled by scavengers.

From force of habit, Legolas slid from his horse and helped Gimli to dismount. Holding Arod's headstall, the Elf looked about for the stable. Éomer saw him and drew near to offer his aid. "No doubt you wish to see to your horse," he said with bluff kindness. "Come with me; I will show you the stable."

Gimli would have followed, but he saw that Éowyn had greeted her uncle and now was peering about anxiously. Taking a deep breath, he marched over to where she stood. "My Lady," he said, his voice breaking. The maiden looked to either side of him, as if she expected to find Aragorn in Gimli's company, as had often been the case. Then she looked directly at the Dwarf. "The Lord Aragorn," she said questioningly, "where is he?"

The Dwarf forced out the words. "He fell."

Éowyn looked about wildly, as if she expected Gimli to be proved wrong by the sight of Aragorn striding amongst the warriors. Her eyes fell upon Théoden. The misery upon her uncle's face was unmistakable, and Gimli watched Éowyn's hope die. "I am sorry," he managed to say before turning about and stumbling off in search of Legolas.

The Dwarf found Legolas still in the stable. In ordinary times, Gimli would have wished to explore this stable, for it was in fact a well-appointed cave. Today, however, he was much too worried about the welfare of his friend, who sat in the corner of Arod's stall, hunched forward, his legs drawn up under his chin.

"Found something to drink," said Gimli, proffering Legolas one of the two mugs he carried.

Legolas shook his head. "Thank you, Gimli, but I am not thirsty."

"Oh, but you must be. We've been riding for hours, and we haven't stopped to fill our waterskins since—the skirmish."

"I have no great liking for beer, Gimli."

"'Tisn't beer, laddie," Gimli exclaimed triumphantly. "'Tis wine! And not any run-of-the-mill wine, neither! Nicked it from the King's own private stocks, I'll have you know, and at great peril to my skin."

Gimli again proffered a mug, staring anxiously at the Elf all the while.

Legolas knew that Gimli no more liked wine than the Elf liked beer, and he was touched by the Dwarf's concern. Graciously, he accepted a mug from the hand of his friend. He sipped his wine slowly, though, for however fine the wine, it gave him no pleasure.

Gimli slid down the wall to sit alongside the Elf. He said nothing, merely sipped his wine as slowly as did Legolas. When the Dwarf had nearly finished the beverage, he pulled out his pipe but did not light it, merely idly turning it in his hands. At last Legolas spoke.

"I shouldn't mind if you smoked your pipe, Gimli."

"Are you certain, Legolas? Wouldn't kill me not to smoke. Far from it, if you Elves are to be believed!"

Legolas smiled a little. Given the peril they faced, it would have seemed petty to deny Gimli what might be the final pleasure of his life.

"Truly, Gimli, I do not mind. It is something that—that Aragorn would do if he were with us."

"Aye, that he would," Gimli said softly. A brazier was set in a niche in the corner of the stall. The Dwarf arose, went to the fire, and fished out a brand with which to light his pipe. Then he returned to sit beside Legolas, thoughtfully blowing out puffs of smoke.

'Some Men believe that the souls of the dead hover in the air in the vicinity of kith and kin', thought Legolas. 'If that be true, then I hope Aragorn is near and can somehow sense the odor of Gimli's pipe weed. Perhaps it would comfort him'. For a moment Legolas had a wild notion that he ought to pour out some of the wine upon the ground, but he restrained himself. 'Really', he said scolded himself, 'if Aragorn's spirit is hovering in the air, then he is hardly going to be crawling about the ground lapping up spilled wine'.

At his side, Gimli suddenly stirred. He nodded at Legolas's mug. "Are you going to finish that? No? Then give it to me."

Legolas was nonplused. He knew Gimli enjoyed his victuals, but it was unaccountable to the Elf that the Dwarf would play the glutton on a day such as this. Nevertheless, the Elf handed Gimli his mug. Ignoring the bewildered expression on his friend's face, the Dwarf arose and returned to the brazier. He stood before it muttering something, and then he carefully poured into the flame a little wine, first from his mug and then from Legolas's. The flame guttered but did not fail, and a steam redolent of wine arose into the air. Suddenly the Elf understood what the Dwarf was about.

"We Dwarfs look after our folk, be they with us or be they not," Gimli declared fiercely, confirming Legolas's suppositions. "Wherever Aragorn has betaken himself to, he shan't go thirsty." With that, Gimli sucked hard upon his pipe, withdrew the stem from his mouth, and sent its vapor aloft as well. "There," the Dwarf said, satisfied, "a draught of both wine and weed."

Legolas leaned back against the wall, relieved that his friend had not in fact grown callous so soon after the loss of Aragorn. Then he grew thoughtful. "Gimli," he said pensively, "do you really think that somewhere Aragorn is enjoying the aroma of that pipe weed?"

Gimli grew equally thoughtful. "We-ell," he said slowly, "my folk do say that there be a land where the dead dwell after they leave this place. My Da, though, he don't put any stock in such tales. He said that no one had been there and back again, so who is to tell."

"What do _you_ think, Gimli?"

"It don't hurt to believe such tales, I reckon. Folk find such notions comforting. Don't your folk have any tales of that sort?"

"Yes, but as your Father has said, no one can know for certain. Glorfindel may know. He is said to be twice-born, but I do not know if that is the truth, for he refuses to speak of the matter."

"There's Gandalf, now. _He_ came back."

"True, Gimli, but where did he come back _from_? We don't know that he perished. Like as not he lay ill upon the mountain top for a time, until Gwaihir found him and carried him to Lothlórien."

"Well, I don't know, Legolas. Didn't he say he was 'sent back'?"

"If he were ill," argued Legolas, "he wouldn't know from a dream. Fevers fill the heads of Men with the oddest notions."

"So you think any notion of a dwelling for the departed is naught but a tale, then?"

"A lie," Legolas said sadly.

"That's harsh, lad. But even if it be a lie, it's a _good_ lie."

"How can a lie be good?"

"Why, next you'll be asking me whether there be no difference between a good witch and a bad witch! But hark ye, lad, do Elves never tell make-believe stories to their younglings?"

"I know what you are going to say, Gimli—that those stories are lies, too—but everyone knows that. It would be different if someone were to claim that those stories were true."

"Yet when we listen to those stories, they might as well be true. Haven't you seen younglings look about at the end of a story surprised that they are not surrounded by unicorns and phoenixes and suchlike. Those stories are _real_ in the telling."

"I suppose," said Legolas after a pause, "that there may be no harm in believing a made-up story. It would depend upon the circumstances, I guess."

"No harm! Lad, I am surprised at you. The Fair Folk are famous for their love of song and story. That being so, I had expected a more rousing defense of tale-telling from you than that it may do no harm—something along the lines of that it may do a great deal of good!"

"A tale of a land beyond life may cheer folk, I suppose," conceded Legolas, "but in the end they will have to accept that their loved one has perished."

"True enough, but it takes time to accept the loss of a loved one. Let the bereaved dwell in dreams until they are ready to wake up to the truth."

"You think a made-up story is a sort of dream, then?"

"Aye, I do. Sometimes we wake up from it as soon as the bard ceases singing. Other times we sleep on a little longer—and perhaps wake up all the more refreshed for doing so."

Legolas pondered a while. "But we _do_ wake up."

"The most of us do."

"And what then?" persisted Legolas. "What happens when you wake up and learn anew that you have lost a person dear to you? How do you go on? Indeed, now I wonder greatly how mortals can bear their existence, knowing as they do that all their friends and kinsman will die. Death is certain; that there is anything beyond death is not certain at all."

"True, and that is why my Da says it is best to behave as if there is naught but the world at our feet. Folk must cherish their loved ones in the here and now, for they may never get another opportunity. If there _is _another life beyond this one, they will have lost nothing by doing so, but if they do _not_ cherish their loved ones to the utmost, they may lose all."

"Your Father's advice may govern how one behaves whilst one's loved ones still live, but how can it console folk after their loved ones have perished?"

"It is hard enough to carry the burden of grief; better not to be burdened with regret as well."

"It is not enough," said Legolas unhappily. "The burden of grief alone is too much to bear."

"Yet folk have borne it," Gimli said calmly. "Mortal folk. If they can endure, shouldn't an Elf be able to?"

"No, the immortal are less equipped to bear such a burden. It is beyond their ken. Mortals have more experience in such matters."

Gimli shook his head. "You are wrong, Legolas, for each mortal must bear this grief anew. It boots me not that my grandfather bore the death of his father, and my great- grandfather the death of his. When my own Da dies, I shall have had no practice in facing that grief, for that one loss, the loss of a father, I will have never faced before."

Legolas fell silent. When he spoke, his voice was very soft. "And when your father does die, Gimli?" he whispered.

"I have always followed my father's advice. I believe I will have no regrets, for I have cherished him always."

"You have told me what you will _not_ have, but what _will_ remain to you?"

"When you cherish someone in the here and now, you form memories worth saving. I have lost kin, Legolas, and it was hard at first. Now, though, whenever I think of my departed kinsmen, I smile, for it is the memories that fill my mind and not the sorrow. Those memories are like a warmth that spreads throughout my entire body. Think of the taste and smell of fresh, warm bread. I cannot explain why, Legolas, but my memories are like that."

"Like the taste and smell of bread?"

"Of fresh, warm bread. I am filled and comforted."

Legolas pondered this awhile. Bread newly turned out of the pan: steamy and warm, moist and springy, smelling—like life. He nodded. "I understand, Gimli. You choose to act as if there is nothing after your life here in Middle-earth, yet you allow yourself to believe that there _may_ be something more. There is a logic to your choice—although it seems odd that logic would avail in such a case."

Gimli shrugged. He cared not whether he were logical or no.

"Call it what you will, lad. These be notions that have served my folk well. Whatever our sorrows, we endure—aye, endure and take joy in our lives whilst doing so."

Legolas smiled in spite of his grief. "As always, Gimli, you are nothing if not practical."

Gimli stood up and took an exaggerated bow. "Why, thank you, o ye princeling of the perfectly-pointed ears. And now," he continued, suddenly all business, "may I remind you that I said we Dwarfs look after our folk, be they with us or be they not. I've seen to the one who isn't with us; now I mean to see to the one who is! Come along! There must be a warrior's mess hereabouts, and I mean to find it."

Legolas had no more appetite for food than he had had for wine, but to humor the Dwarf he arose and accompanied him. As they made their way through the crowded passageways, Legolas at last found some cause for joy. Sitting upon a step were Freda and Éothain, and between them sat a woman who hugged first one and then the other. Legolas stopped and gazed hungrily upon them. "My Mama," Freda happily told him, with no sign of her former shyness. "I thought so," Legolas said gallantly, "for she is as beautiful as you are pretty and your brother handsome."

This grand pronouncement drew giggles from Freda and a grin from Éothain. Then Legolas bowed respectfully to the children's mother and spoke with greater seriousness. "My Lady," he said, "you are the mother of two brave children."

"Say rather that I remain the mother of two brave children," she replied, her gravity matching the Elf's, "and for that I am greatly indebted to you and yours. Freda has told me of your kindness, and Éothain and the Men say that you and your friends fought fiercely with the rearguard—aye, and suffered for it, too." Gently putting aside the clutching hands of her children, she arose and curtseyed to Legolas. "Thank you for my children," she said softly.

"You are very welcome," the Elf replied, moved beyond measure. Bowing a second time, he fell back into step beside Gimli, who was also greatly affected by the reunion of mother and children. Together they walked silently into the mess. There Gimli gathered a loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese, and several slices of smoked meat, and they sat at the end of one of the trestle tables, each absorbed in his own thoughts. Gimli, indeed, was thrown into such a study that for awhile he forgot to eat. This remarkable fact at last drew the attention of the Elf. He was not eating, either, but that was not as unusual as the sight of a Dwarf with untouched food before him.

"Gimli," Legolas said, "do you mean to let mold grow upon that cheese?"

Gimli recovered a little. "What's that you say, lad?'

"Cheese. Mold."

"Elf, you know nothing of cheese," scoffed the Dwarf. "That mold is what gives the cheese its flavor."

"I know that," Legolas said patiently, "but if you sit staring at that cheese long enough, it will begin to acquire new molds—and ones not so tasty, I'll warrant."

Gimli grunted acknowledgement and sliced off a piece of cheese. He offered it first to Legolas, but the Elf declined. He shared neither the Dwarf's fondness for strong cheese nor his love of dark ale. Even if he had, he still had no appetite. It was only after Gimli had scolded him repeatedly that Legolas ate a little bread and drank a little water.

Their peculiar repast was at last interrupted when an old Man trudged breathless toward their table. Behind him he dragged several planks.

"Master Dwarf," the old Man said humbly, "I have found several pieces of wood. I know 'tis a trivial matter, but—."

"Not trivial at all," interrupted the Dwarf, pushing away mug and platter and leaping to his feet. "My axe has been befouled by the blood of warg and Orc, and it would welcome the feel of good wood beneath its blade. Legolas," he said turning to the Elf, "would you—."

"You go on, Gimli. I am quite comfortable here."

"You will eat a little more, won't you?"

"Yes, a little."

"Well, you needn't be quite so _literal_ about it," growled Gimli before turning to follow the old Man.

Behind him, Legolas tore a piece of bread from the loaf and slowly chewed it. The loaf was neither warm nor fresh, and the more the Elf ate, the more his sadness arose anew. At last, sighing, he too pushed back platter and mug and arose. Head down, shoulders slumped, he wandered out a door.

Gimli, meanwhile, had relieved the Old Man of the wood, waving off his protests and hoisting the boards upon his own shoulders. Together, Dwarf and Man made their way into a cavern deep beneath the Hornburg. There they found a frail old woman shivering as she lay upon the stony floor. Gimli saw at once that it was his task to fashion not only a bedstead but a bier, for the ancient woman could not have long to live. "Now, then," he harrumphed, trying to appear gruff, "you see to that woman there, for I will not have you meddling." He pushed the Man toward his wife. "Nay," he said as the Man protested that he ought to help, "if you aid me, then my honor shall be sadly reduced. I am Gimli son of Glóin, and I mean to uphold the dignity of that name by demonstrating what marvels may be done with a few sticks of wood." Thus refusing all assistance, the Dwarf set about splitting the boards into poles and slats. Then he whittled pegs, and with a combination of pegs and lashings he devised a frame that was both comfortable and sturdy. 'It don't look half bad', he thought to himself as he surveyed his handiwork critically, 'but it could look even better—and be all the warmer, too'. Kneeling by his pack, he untied his bedroll. When he had left Lothlórien, he had found that the worn blanket that he had carried all the way from Erebor had been replaced by one woven of the same material as his elven cloak. Now he unrolled this blanket, folded it lengthwise, and carefully spread the resulting 'mattress' atop the slats of the bedstead. "There now!" he exclaimed aloud. "This bedstead would do honor to the Lady of Lórien herself."

The old Man looked awed and even a little frightened. "You needn't look so," the Dwarf reassured him. "The Lady's compassion is exceeded only by her beauty. Indeed, this blanket is a token of her kindness, for it is a gift from her folk, as is this cloak and brooch."

The old Man laid his hand upon the makeshift mattress. He marveled at its softness. "This is elven cloth, then," he whispered. "Are you sure the Lady won't take offense that it will be serving the likes of us? We are naught but poor folk!"

Gimli shook his head. "This blanket was meant to provide comfort. The Lady will be pleased that it has done so."

"She won't be angry that you did not keep the blanket for yourself?"

"Not at all! Indeed, when next I see her," declared Gimli, "she shall be pleased that I will be able to give such a good account of it."

"If you are sure then."

"I am," said the Dwarf. "But enough speech! Whilst we talk, your wife still lies upon the ground."

Together, Man and Dwarf gently lifted the ailing woman and laid her upon the cot. Tenderly, the Man covered her from his own stock of blankets. She smiled at both Dwarf and Man before drifting into a sleep more comfortable than she had enjoyed in several days. Gimli found himself beaming down upon her. When he looked up, the Man appeared troubled. The Dwarf was startled. Why should the Man look so, now that his wife was comfortable?

"I do not know how I shall be able to repay you, Master Dwarf," said the Man.

"Well," harrumphed Gimli, "you might say 'thank you'."

"Oh, of course," the Man said hastily. "Thank you!"

"There now," Gimli said cheerfully. "Debt settled."

With that, the Dwarf shouldered his axe and strode off, pausing at the cave's entrance to look back and nod at the Man, who now sat beside his sleeping wife and caressed her hand. Smiling, the Man returned his nod. Gimli thought of his earlier conversation with Legolas. 'I believe', the Dwarf thought hopefully, 'that yonder Man must surely have laid by a stock of memories that he can cling to once he can no longer grasp that hand. The care he shows for his wife is not of the moment'.

Glad that he had helped create one of those memories, Gimli directed his steps back toward the mess. When he entered the hall, however, he was alarmed to see that Legolas was nowhere in sight.

"Durned Elf," grumbled Gimli. "You there, lad," he called to a boy who sat alone upon a bench staring into an untouched bowl of stew. The boy looked up. He had an expression that reminded the Dwarf of the look upon Legolas's face as the Elf had stood staring down into the gorge, and the Nauga at once softened his manner. "What be your name, lad?" he asked with gruff gentleness.

"Haleth son of Háma," the boy answered softly.

Gimli winced. The son of Théoden's trusted advisor, slain that day upon the plains of Rohan. "Well, Haleth," he said. "I am looking for my Elf. Have you seen him hereabouts?"

"He left only a little while ago," Haleth replied, pointing toward a door.

"Thank you, lad." Gimli turned to go and then paused, irresolute. The lad looked so bereft. Gimli wondered if he had any kin left to him. If he had a mother and siblings, why was he not surrounded by them?

"Haleth," Gimli said suddenly. "I am a stranger here. I need to hunt up my Elf, but I am lost in this maze that is Helm's Deep. Will you serve as my guide? I would be very grateful if you would."

After his brief exchange with the Dwarf, the boy had dropped his head and resumed staring at his neglected meal. Now he raised his head again and looked at his questioner. "I could do that," he said slowly.

"Excellent!" exclaimed the Dwarf. He plunked himself down by the boy and nodded toward the bowl of stew. "You'd best finish your grub before we start. That Elf is a master of concealment, so you are sure to need your last ounce of strength before we uncover his hiding place. In fact, I'd best join you, lest I myself flag in the search." He reached across the table for a loaf of bread, tore it in half and plunked one portion in front of the boy before tearing into his own half.

"I've had better bread," he mumbled around a mouthful of the loaf, "but then I've had worse, too. You would do well to soak your loaf in your stew."

After a moment of hesitation, Haleth picked up the half-loaf, tore off a fragment and dipped it in the broth. He raised the sopped bread to his mouth and mechanically began to chew it. Gimli pushed a mug toward him. "Something to wash it down, lad."

"I do not drink beer," the boy said automatically.

"You do now, lad. You are in a warrior's mess. You don't see any pitchers of milk hereabouts, do you?"

The boy nodded, lifted the cup to his lips, and drained it in one gulp.

"Of course," Gimli said hastily, "whilst milk may be drained at one go, beer is to be savored. There is nothing to recommend milk, other than that it will satisfy thirst. But beer, now, it must be drunk slowly if one is to appreciate it properly."

Haleth wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he gave the Dwarf a skeptical look. "Master Dwarf," he said accusingly, "I have not noticed _you_ lingering over your cups."

"True, true," stammered the Dwarf, "but that is only because I am mindful of my Elf. He finds it irksome to be forced to cool his heels whilst he waits for me to finish my beer. Hasty sort, he is. Why, see how he didn't even abide my return! Grew impatient and wandered off and now we've got to hunt him up."

A smile flitted across Haleth's face. "If you say so, Master Dwarf," he answered, his voice a mix of the doubtful and the amused.

Gimli arose. "Yes, I _do_ say so," he blustered, "and now you have supped, let us go in search of that wretched Elf." He turned and stomped toward the door. Behind him, a smirk upon his face, trailed Haleth.


	24. Chapter 24: A Spreading Warmth

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's. In this chapter, I follow Jackson in having Éowyn present at Helm's Deep, as well as in having Aragorn missing after an attack by warg-riders.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers: _Elfinabottle, CAH, The Inebriated Lion-Minion, apsenniel, windwraith, _and _fair rider_. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates quotations and plot elements from the book and/or movie versions of _The Lord of the Rings._**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_**

**Chapter 24: A Spreading Warmth**

Legolas stood upon a platform atop the tower of the Hornburg. It was the loneliest place to be found at Helm's Deep, and lonely is how the Elf felt. Legolas had been moved by Gimli's efforts to cheer him, and while in the Dwarf's company the Elf had tried to push aside his sorrow. But once removed from the vicinity of Gimli's robust disposition, Legolas had rapidly fallen into his former melancholy state. He had slipped away from the hubbub in the corridors and courtyards below to seek sanctuary in the open air atop the tower, but his sorrow pursued him. He mourned Aragorn, of course, but the anguish that he felt went far beyond grief. For Legolas, the death of Estel was a loss so profound that it led him to doubt the certainties that had hitherto ruled his life.

Legolas had long ago been told by Elrond that Aragorn was of mortal kind, but in his heart the Elf had never ceased to think of him as one of the Eldar, gifted with life everlasting. Now Aragorn had fallen, and so closely did Legolas identify with his foster-brother that he found himself questioning his own supposed elven immortality. If the Eldar were indeed immortal, he wondered, why were there no Elves as old as Arda itself? It was true that Elves lived longer than Men, and to Men would thus seem 'immortal', but were they really? Elves could die of injury, but it was claimed that the only other way an Elf might perish was through succumbing to sorrow or grief. But was it not possible that 'sorrow' and 'grief' were merely circumlocutions for disease and decay?

As his mind wandered through this maze of grief and doubt, Legolas began to ask himself whether there were any beings who were truly immortal. What of the Valar, Legolas thought desperately. Surely they were immortal? But here the Elf's drifting thoughts encountered another treacherous shoal. 'Who amongst us have known any of the Valar?' he mused. 'They are supposedly elsewhere, but how are we to be certain that they indeed exist? May it not be possible that they are no more real than the Gods and Heroes in the tales of Men?'

The Elf gazed up at the stars. 'That is supposed to be a Silmaril', he thought to himself, catching sight of one star in particular. 'The jewel glimmers upon Eärendil's boat as he sails endlessly across the heavens. But how do I know that that is anything but a tale—a pretty tale, to be sure, but still no more than an idle story told for the delight of younglings? Perhaps when Eärendil sailed west, he sailed to his death. Perhaps there was no Undying Land for him to reach, and he floated upon the ocean until he perished from hunger and thirst'.

If Eärendil had perished and if there were nothing more than the here and now, then for him death would have been—what? Legolas wrinkled his forehead as he tried to imagine what death would be like for the Mariner. 'If you are dead', he said to himself, 'how would you know it? I imagine death to be a blackness, an absence of light, but if I were dead, how should I be aware of the absence of light? If I were dead, I should not be aware of anything. Indeed, I should not be aware of not being aware. I should not know I was dead!'

Legolas concentrated upon imagining the nothingness that would ensue if one lacked consciousness, but in the very attempt he continually defeated himself. He could not imagine not imagining, for he could not suppress his awareness of his own mind. Like a dog chasing its own tail, his mind raced round and round in pursuit of this conundrum until his very body grew dizzy at his efforts. At last he sighed and gave over the attempt. 'One who is alive cannot experience the emptiness of death', he concluded. 'I suppose, however, that I may console myself with the notion that if Aragorn is well and truly dead, he will not suffer at the thought of it—for he will have no way of knowing that he no longer lives'. His head aching, the Elf then gave over thinking and simply allowed himself to feel, raising his face to the stars allowing their silvery light to enter into his soul.

While Legolas had been struggling with his thoughts, Gimli had a more practical end in mind: finding his friend and making sure that he was fed, watered, and rested, so to speak. While Gimli knew nothing of the care and feeding of horses, he had developed a fairly good sense of what it took to maintain an Elf in health and comfort. Now, determined to put his knowledge to good use, he stalked the corridors and byways of the fortress in search of 'his' Elf. Guided by Haleth, the Dwarf poked his head into all the obvious rooms and then moved on to the less obvious ones: larders and cellars and tack rooms and armories and finally even the garderobes.

"I am sorry, Master Dwarf," Haleth said at last. "You spoke the truth when you said that your friend was a master of concealment."

Gimli scrunched up his face and paused to puzzle over what he ought to do next. 'He's an Elf', the Nauga thought to himself, 'and Elves do love the open air—unobstructed view of the stars and all that. It's a wonder the entire race don't perish of pneumonia. Very well, then, I shall look for a spot where he would have the best view of the sky'. The Dwarf sighed and cast his eyes skyward. 'I suppose', he grumbled, 'that means climbing up that tower there'. He turned to Haleth.

"Can you show me how to ascend to the very pinnacle of yonder tower?"

"Yes, Master Dwarf," the boy replied readily. He led Gimli to a small postern door. After several turns, Dwarf and boy found themselves at the base of a narrow, winding set of stairs and commenced a long, laborious climb. The entire way, Gimli grumbled about the 'durned Elf' who was forcing him to make this climb, but he recovered his good spirits at once when he emerged at the top and spied Legolas, his back to them, standing at the far side of the platform that surmounted the tower.

"We have cornered our quarry," exulted Gimli. "Haleth son of Háma, you have served me well. If I have further need of a guide, be sure I shall think upon you before all others." The Dwarf pulled a small axe from his belt. "Here is something to accompany my thanks."

"You need not pay me, Master Dwarf."

"True, I need not pay you, but if I choose to gift you with this axe as a token of my thanks, who is to say that I may not? Indeed, I should like to see someone try!"

Here the Dwarf looked rather fierce. Awed and a little intimidated, Haleth hastily accepted the axe, thrust it into his belt, and bade the Dwarf farewell.

After Haleth had departed, Gimli walked toward the Elf as quietly as he could. The Dwarf was still more than a dozen feet away when, without turning, Legolas said, "Welcome, my friend." Chagrined, Gimli swore something in the language of the Naugrim. Legolas looked over his shoulder. To Gimli's relief, the Elf was smiling.

"You are not fading away," the Dwarf exclaimed happily.

"No," Legolas said serenely, "for Aragorn is still with us, Gimli."

The delighted Dwarf at once began to congratulate himself—for surely Legolas' transformation had taken place because of the wisdom Gimli had imparted in the mess. Legolas' next words, however, brought the Dwarf up short.

"Yes, Gimli, Aragorn will be rejoining us shortly."

Gimli stared at the Elf in consternation. Had his friend taken leave of his senses? The Dwarf took a deep breath. Perhaps it would be best to speak bluntly. "Legolas, you must know that Aragorn is dead. He won't be rejoining us—although it is altogether likely that soon we will be joining _him_."

Legolas shook his head in denial. "Gimli, after Gandalf fell, my limbs felt cold and lifeless. Later the warmth began to return to my body, and at that same time Gandalf was restored to consciousness. When Aragorn fell into the gorge, my body once again grew cold—and now once again I feel life stir within me. At first I was too preoccupied with sad thoughts to recognize that Aragorn's life-force was reaching out to me, but now my mind is clear of the fears and doubts that prevented me from recognizing the truth."

With pity, Gimli looked upon his friend, and when he spoke his voice was gentle even if his words were not. "Legolas, Gandalf is an exception. As a general rule, dead people stay dead."

"Then what accounts for the warmth and life that courses through me?" argued Legolas.

"Lad," Gimli said patiently, "I, too, felt cold and lifeless after Aragorn fell, and I, too, have lately felt that sudden surge of warmth. It is not, however, because Aragorn has returned from the dead. When I returned to the mess, I encountered a lad as sorrowful as ever either of us were. Háma left behind a son, a fine boy who will someday make proud the memory of his father. I set myself to cheering up the lad. All at once, I did feel Aragorn's presence and I did say to myself, 'Aragorn is with me', but you must see that I felt that way because I was doing what Aragorn would have wanted me to do. Aragorn is still alive in a sense because we are keeping him alive, not only in memory but in deed."

"I do not deny that he is with us in that sense," Legolas replied stubbornly, "but soon he will be with us in the body as well."

"What if you are wrong, lad?"

Legolas considered. "Gimli, at least one of these statements is true: Aragorn is alive because he is—alive. Aragorn is alive because he has a spirit that lived on after his body perished. Aragorn is alive because we are keeping him alive in memory and in deed."

"And if it is the second or the third that is true but not the first?" Gimli asked anxiously.

"Gimli, do not fret. I should very much like the first to be true, or even the second, but I will endure even the third, if that is all that is granted me."

Gimli looked so relieved that Legolas laughed outright for the first time since the skirmish. Then he walked to the parapet and gazed upon the rugged plain, illuminated by the rising sun, that spread out from the base of Helm's Deep. Suddenly he gave a start and stared intently at some distant point. When the Elf turned back, he was grinning, and to Gimli his friend again seemed much as he had ever been.

"Gimli, let us climb down from this tower. I think soon our presence shall be wanted."

"Eh, so you are Galadriel now, able to see far into the future?"

"Let us simply say that I can see far and leave it at that."

The two began their descent, with Legolas continuing cheerful, so much so that Gimli thought to himself, 'It is either feast or famine with this fellow. Well, perhaps that is the way of an elvish wight."

It seemed to Gimli that it took as long to descend the tower as it had to ascend it, but at last they stood upon the level of the Hornburg proper. Gimli drew forth his pipe, and to his amusement Legolas at once vanished. Rolling his eyes at the antics of the Elf but no longer concerned for Legolas' health, Gimli seated himself upon a barrel and smoked for a time, idly watching as the Men of Rohan prepared to withstand a siege, their efforts likely to be futile, the Dwarf suspected. Suddenly Gimli heard excited shouts, and drawn by force of habit, he walked over to the parapet and peered into the courtyard below. What he saw caused him to seize hold of the wall in sudden dizziness. Bruised and battered but undeniably alive, Aragorn was sliding wearily from his horse. The Ranger's feet had no sooner hit the flagstones than a small but determined figure was bulling his way through the crowd.

"Where is he?" bellowed the Dwarf as he pushed past Men twice his side. "Where is he? Get out of the way. I'm going to kill him!"

The Dwarf broke past the last onlooker and reached Aragorn. "You are the luckiest, the canniest and the most reckless man I ever knew!" Gimli exclaimed. With that, Gimli flung his arms about the Man, his grip of course reaching only to Aragorn's waist.

"Bless you, laddie!" he exclaimed, his voice breaking.

Aragorn allowed himself the slightest of smiles and gently freed himself from the Dwarf's embrace.

"Where is the King?" he asked with quiet urgency.

Gimli nodded in the direction of the keep. Aragorn clapped him upon the back and began to wearily ascend the steps that led to the innermost fortress. He reached the landing and strode toward the massive wooden doors, his eyes fixed upon the ground as he doggedly placed one foot after another. Suddenly he was brought up short by a pair of boots directly in his path. He glanced up and found himself gazing into Legolas' face. They looked at each other for a moment, and then Legolas spoke in a matter-of-fact voice.

"Le ab-dollen" he announced. _You're late_.

Surprised and confused, Aragorn stood speechless as the Elf eyed him critically. Making a show of looking from side to side, Legolas took in the Ranger's ripped and soiled clothes, his face and hands scraped and bruised and crusted with dirt, his shoulder that oozed blood from a wound that appeared infected. After scrutinizing Aragorn thus for several seconds, the Elf made a face and said, "You look terrible!"

Aragorn stared at him bemusedly for a few more seconds, and then a tired but heartfelt grin spread over his face. His face now sporting a gentle smile, Legolas took Aragorn's hand. Cupping it, he placed something within the hollow of the Ranger's palm. Aragorn looked down to see Arwen's pendant. The chain had been mended, the Evenstar cleansed of the Orc blood that had befouled it.

"Hannon le," Aragorn said gratefully, and he briefly rested his hand upon Legolas' shoulder. Then together they walked on toward the keep.


	25. Chapter 25: There Is Always Hope

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's. In this chapter, I follow Tolkien in having ****Éomer present at Helm's Deep, but ****I follow Jackson in having Éowyn present as well.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers of Chapter 24: _CAH, The Inebriated Lion-Minion, windwraith, _and _fair rider_. Welcome to _Tears of Eternal Darkness_, who has just happened upon this story and reviewed Chapter 1. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates quotations from the book and/or movie versions of _The Lord of the Rings._**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_**

**Chapter 25: There is Always Hope **

"You knew," Gimli said accusingly.

"I _told_ you he was alive," retorted Legolas, who, to his credit, was not smirking at the indignant Dwarf.

"You didn't tell me you had actually _seen_ him!"

"You wouldn't have believed me if I had."

"Well, I would have if you had pointed him out!"

Now Legolas did smirk. "Lacking my superior elven vision," he proclaimed loftily, "you wouldn't have been able to descry him even if I _had_ pointed him out."

"Scamp!" spluttered Gimli. "Rascal! Rogue! Imp! Have I left anything out?"

"Scalawag?"

"Right. Scalawag!"

Legolas grinned all the more. These were all names he was familiar with, for many were the times that Gandalf had hurled them at his head. Scamp, especially. It warmed his heart to hear Gimli call him a scamp.

Gimli arose and stomped off to refill his tankard. When he returned he was calmer.

"So the warg broke his fall?" he said as he lifted the tankard to his lips.

"Aye, Gimli. They tumbled over and over as they plummeted, and the warg was bottommost when they landed upon a boulder in the midst of the river. The beast died instantly, and Aragorn was thrown clear. He remembers hitting the water and sinking and surfacing several times. He does not remember how he came to shore. It seemed to him that he was dreaming upon a settle in Rivendell and that he felt the brush of Arwen's lips upon his own. Then he awoke. He was lying on his back upon the river bank, and Brego was nuzzling his face."

"Kissed by a horse," Gimli chortled. "If we should survive, that will make a good story to tell of an evening. What will Arwen have to say of her rival, eh?"

'Yes, _if _we should survive', thought Legolas.Their situation had seemed perilous from the very beginning, but Aragorn had arrived bearing news that revealed that the danger was even greater than they had feared. As Brego had carried Aragorn to Helm's Deep, the Ranger had made an alarming discovery. From a hilltop he had caught sight of a massive army approaching from the northwest. He could make out ten divisions. Ten divisions! Legolas knew that the fortress had withstood many a siege, but never had such a force been thrown at its walls. Moreover, so hasty had their flight been to Helm's Deep that they had had little time to gather provisions. Even if the walls held in the face of a frontal assault, how were they to stave off starvation?

Their vulnerability had been plain to see as the three friends had toured the fortress in the company of the King. Before his councilors, Théoden had put up a brave front when Aragorn had flung open the door to the King's Presence Chamber and carried within his ill news. "A great host, you say?" the King had repeated calmly after listening to his account.

"All lsengard is emptied," answered Aragorn.

"How many?" Théoden asked, his manner still matter of fact.

"Ten thousand strong at least."

"Ten thousand?" A crack appeared in Théoden's façade. He looked at Aragorn in dismay, willing himself not to believe but knowing that a keen-eyed Ranger such as the Dúnadan was unlikely to be mistaken.

"It is," Aragorn declared somberly, "an army bred for a single purpose: To destroy the world of Men. They will be here by nightfall."

Recovering his composure, Théoden replied with an attempt at bravado. "Let them come!" he swore as he strode for the door to oversee the preparations for the defense of Helm's Deep. His councilors and the Three Hunters followed him to the gate of the fortress. As the King surveyed the terrain before them, he issued orders. "I want every man and strong lad able to bear arms to be ready for battle by nightfall," he declared to Gamling. His second-in-command nodded grimly and strode off to convey the King's order. "We will cover the causeway and the gate from above," Théoden declared to those who remained. "No army has ever breached the Deeping Wall or set foot inside the Hornburg!"

Gimli spoke up then. "This is no rabble of mindless Orcs," he warned. "These are Uruk-hai. Their armor is thick and their shields broad."

Théoden bridled at being lessoned by someone only newly acquainted with the fortress. "I have fought many wars, Master Dwarf," he retorted. "I know how to defend my own keep."

Quelled, Gimli slumped against the wall as Théoden and his retainers filed by. Legolas smiled upon the Dwarf sympathetically as he followed, and Aragorn put a comforting hand upon his shoulder. The company returned to the inner ramparts. "They will break upon this fortress like water on rock," Théoden proclaimed loudly. "Saruman's hordes will pillage and burn—we've seen it before. Crops can be resown, homes rebuilt. Within these walls, we will outlast them."

"They do not come to destroy Rohan's crops or villages," Aragorn said urgently. "They come to destroy its people—down to the last child."

Théoden spun about and seized Aragorn's arm. He dropped his voice so that his people would not overhear his words. Legolas looked away, as if he had no intention of eavesdropping, but he could not help but hear.

"What would you have me do?" the King forced out between clenched teeth, his frustration and fury barely held in check. "Look at my men. Their courage hangs by a thread. If this is to be our end, then I would have them make such an end as to be worthy of remembrance."

"Send out riders, my lord," Aragorn begged. "You must call for aid."

"And who will come?" retorted Théoden. "Elves? Dwarves? We are not so lucky in our friends as you. The old alliances are dead."

"Gondor will answer," Aragorn avowed.

Theoden almost spat in reply. He thrust his face into Aragorn's, and Legolas shifted slightly so that he might interject himself between the two if necessary. Remarkably, Théoden kept his voice low. "Gondor?!" he mocked. "Where was Gondor when the Westfold fell?! Where was Gondor when our enemies closed in around us?! Where was Gon—" He broke off and forced himself to speak more calmly. "No, my Lord Aragorn," he said bitterly, "we are alone." He turned and stalked away, calling to his warriors to hasten the women and children into the caverns that honeycombed the mountain out of which the fortress had been carved.

As the corridors of Helm's Deep filled with frightened woman and children retreating deeper into the refuge, the Three Hunters strode amongst the throng and examined more minutely the keep's defenses. Or, rather, Aragorn examined the defenses while Legolas and Gimli vainly tried to convince him to rest and conserve his energy for the battle to come. "Aragorn," Legolas at last cried out in frustration, "you won't be any good to us if you are half alive."

Before the Ranger had a chance to reply, an agitated Éowyn descended upon them—or rather upon Aragorn, for she took no notice of either Legolas or Gimli. Once again Legolas tried to appear as if he were not listening. He stepped back and murmured encouragingly to the refugees who trudged past and laid his hand upon their shoulders, gently propelling them toward the entrance to the caves. As before, however, he could not help but overhear. It seemed that Théoden had ordered his niece to move deep into the mountain with the women and children. That was sensible, Legolas thought. Someone had to take charge of the refugees, and who better than the king's kinswoman? The Elf had seen enough to know that she was respected and trusted by the folk of Rohan. Moreover, by assigning Éowyn that task, Théoden no doubt intended that a warrior should be made free to take his place upon the rampart. To the Elf, this bespoke wisdom.

Yet Éowyn could not seem to reconcile herself to the King's command and begged that Aragorn intervene on her behalf. The Elf would have found shameful her reason for this appeal if he had not suspected that she had a second reason less ignoble than the first. Éowyn declared that there was no renown in superintending women and children and doling out food and bedding. Legolas knew that Aragorn did not fight to amass renown; nor were the Elf and the Dwarf at Helm's Deep for that reason. To reject a command intended for the common good in favor of personal aggrandizement would be selfish, and amassing renown was a sort of aggrandizement. But whether she intended to or no, Éowyn soon revealed her second motive for wishing to evade her duty. "My Lady," Aragorn had pointed out gently, "a time may come for valor without renown. Who then will your people look to in the last defense?"

"Let me stand at your side," Éowyn beseeched as if he had not spoken those words.

"It is not in my power to command it," Aragorn replied, trying to put an end to the interview. He turned away to resume his inspection of the defenses.

"You do not command the others to stay!" Éowyn called after him. Aragorn paused and looked back at her. "They fight beside you because they would not be parted from you," she continued. "Because they love you," she added, the tremble in her voice revealing what she was not permitted to say.

Aragorn's expression as he looked upon her was a mix of the compassionate and the troubled.

"I'm sorry," Éowyn said softly. Aragorn held her glance for a moment before she looked away and made her way toward the caverns.

When Aragorn turned about, Legolas was studying him, a quizzical expression upon his face. "Whatever shall you do, Aragorn?"

"It may not be necessary for me to do anything at all," Aragorn replied dryly. "This night's battle may put paid to my dilemma."

"Oh, good," Legolas replied sardonically. "We shall have to be sure to thank Saruman, then."

"Well," Gimli quipped, "one way or another, your body will be fought over, Aragorn. Quite the compliment, eh?"

Aragorn raised his eyebrows after the fashion of Elrond, but in spite of the Ranger's amused expression, Legolas knew that Aragorn was distressed by Éowyn's infatuation for him. The Ranger was sorry that he would have to disappoint the shield-maiden, but he had no interest in wooing her. Then there was the matter of Théoden and Éomer. Éowyn's uncle and brother had looked on complacently as their kinswoman had tried to insinuate herself into Aragorn's good graces. The King of Rohan and his heir liked and respected the Ranger; moreover, it had not taken them long to conclude that it would be advantageous to Rohan to forge an alliance between their house and the heir to the throne of Gondor. Aragorn would have to refuse Éowyn with the greatest of tact so as to avoid offending her kinsmen and imperiling future relations between Rohan and Gondor. That is, Legolas reminded himself, if there _were_ any future relations between Rohan and Gondor, which seemed doubtful, given that the Men of Rohan were so badly outnumbered by the forces of Saruman.

Legolas' thoughts were interrupted when Gimli gave an indignant shout. Legolas looked to see what had angered him and saw the Dwarf wagging his finger at the agéd Man who had dragged several boards into the mess and begged Gimli to help him construct a cot for his ailing wife. Now the Man wore armor and helm and clutched a sword rather than a lath. "You oughtn't to be here," Gimli bellowed. "Who's looking after that wife of yours?"

"My mother tends to her," said a small figure clad in helm and armor that were much too large for him. The joy that Legolas had felt at Aragorn's return suddenly flitted away. The small figure beside the old Man was Éothain. 'He was scarcely large enough to ride his father's horse', Legolas thought bitterly. 'How less is he of a size to bear a sword. Have I secured his safe arrival at Helm's Deep only to see him flung beneath the feet of Saruman's murderous hordes?'

The pall that now enveloped both Gimli and Legolas communicated itself to Aragorn. In gloomy silence the three proceeded to the armory. There they found the chamber packed with a motley crew of Men and boys of all ages and conditions, most of whom had never wielded anything more dangerous than a rake. These unlikely warriors clustered in the center of the chamber, where armor and weapons were hastily thrust into their arms. Aragorn picked up a sword from a pile of dusty weapons, gave it a cursory look, and tossed it down dismissively. "Farmers, farriers, stable boys," he said, shaking his head. "These are no soldiers."

"Most have seen too many winters," said Gimli, a vision of the old Man rising before him as he spoke.

"Or too few," added Legolas. Everywhere he looked he seemed to see Éothain. Hearing the bitterness in the Elf's voice, Aragorn turned to stare at him. "Look at them," the Sinda continued. "They're frightened. I can see it in their eyes." In the uneasy silence that ensued, Legolas switched to elvish. "Boe a hyn: neled herain dan caer menig!" _ And they should be: three hundred against ten thousand!_

Aragorn answered in the same tongue: "Si beriathar hyn amar nâ ned Edoras." _They have more hope of defending themselves here than at Edoras._

Barely keeping his anger and despair in check, Legolas retorted, "Aragorn, nedin dagor hen ú-'erir ortheri. Natha daged dhaer!" _ Aragorn, they cannot win this fight. They are all going to die!_

Aragorn lost all composure. "Then I shall die as one of them!" he shouted. Elf and Man exchanged furious glances before Aragorn abruptly spun about and strode away. Legolas made as if to follow him, but Gimli seized his arm and prevented him. "Let him go, lad. Let him be," he said gently.

Dwarf and Elf returned to the mess, where for several hours Gimli kept a sharp eye on Legolas, who was fidgeting in a manner that was decidedly unelvenly. "You're as twitchy as a Hobbit," Gimli complained at last. "I am sorry," Legolas apologized, "but I am wondering where Estel has gotten himself to."

"Now you know how _I_ was feeling," Gimli grumbled.

Legolas smiled wanly. "If I am not mistaken, you went in search of me. May I not do the same?"

"I suppose," Gimli said thoughtfully, "that Aragorn has had enough time alone with his thoughts." Suddenly the Dwarf seemed to make a decision. "You go look for him," he declared. "Myself, I'm going back to the armory."

The two friends parted. Night had fallen, but the darkness was no obstacle to a Hunter gifted with elven vision. Soon Legolas spied Aragorn sitting on the steps leading to the keep. Near him a watchfire burned, and before it stood two youths clad in armor that, like Éothain's, was too large for them. The one nearest to Aragorn looked frightened and held his sword awkwardly. Oddly, in his belt he bore a small axe that looked to be of dwarven make.

Legolas paused, unsure how to approach his friend. As the Elf hung fire, the Ranger was studying the boy. "Give me your sword," Aragorn called at last. The boy looked about and then approached the Ranger nervously, gingerly holding out his sword. Aragorn took the sword. "What is your name?" he asked the boy.

"Haleth son of Háma, my Lord," the boy said softly. Legolas saw Aragorn's jaw tighten. The boy spoke again, his voice quavering. "The men are saying we will not live out the night. They say that it is hopeless."

Aragorn took a determined breath and stood up. He sighted along the edge of the sword and then swung it about, putting it through a series of moves that had been taught to him by Glorfindel long ago. Then he nodded approvingly and handed the sword back to the boy. "This is a good sword, Haleth son of Háma," he said, placing a hand upon the boy's shoulder.

He looked into the boy's eyes, his expression conveying courage and compassion. "There is always hope," he said gently but firmly. With a final clap upon the boy's shoulder, he turned and strode toward the keep. Legolas followed at a distance.

Once in the keep, Aragorn found a small room off the armory. His face grim but resolute, he set about dressing himself for battle. Putting his sword carefully aside upon a table, he pulled a plated surcoat over his jerkin, fastening each clasp with fingers whose knuckles had been scraped raw by the sand and gravel at the bottom of the river. He slipped his hanger on and buckled his belt, carefully looping the loose end of the strap so that it would not impede his motions. Then Aragorn reached for his sword. It had vanished.

The Dúnadan suddenly realized that Legolas had slipped into the room, his stealth as always a match for the Ranger's vigilance. In his hands the Elf held Aragorn's sword, which he proffered as a sign of his loyalty and respect. "We have trusted you this far," he said, all trace of rancor gone from his voice. "You have not led us astray," the Elf continued. "Forgive me. I was wrong to despair."

Aragorn shook his head. "Ú-moe edaved, Legolas," he replied. _There is nothing to forgive_.

The two friends exchanged smiles, and each laid a hand upon the shoulder of the other. As they stood there, they suddenly heard a jangling sound, and the both of them turned toward the door. Gimli entered the room stumbling over a chain-mail shirt that was too long for him. "We had time, I'd get this adjusted," he grumbled. Impatiently, he tugged at it width-wise. "It's a little tight across the chest," the Dwarf complained, ignoring the more obvious problem of its length.

Both Aragorn and Legolas broke into grins. Their amused expressions were suddenly replaced by looks of wonderment, however, as the clear tone of a horn sounded throughout the keep. "That is no Orc horn," exclaimed Legolas. He bolted from the room, with Aragon only a few steps behind him. Hiking up his chain mail, Gimli came running after.

When they arrived at the top of the steps leading down to the outer courtyard, they saw a sight that had not been seen since the days of the Last Alliance: a company of Elves marching into a fortress of Men. Théoden had been summoned, and for once he let slip that he was flummoxed. "How is this possible?" he exclaimed, on his face bewilderment mixed with relief. He descended the final few steps as the elven troop came to a halt and its leader came forward. Legolas was both shocked and delighted to see that it was Haldir.

The Lórien Elf approached the King of Rohan and bowed. "I bring word from Elrond of Rivendell," he declared formally. "An alliance once existed between Elves and Men. Long ago we fought and died together." Movement on the stairs caught the Elf's eye, and he broke character just long enough to send a brief smile in the direction of Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. Then he completed his message. "We come to honor that allegiance," he proclaimed.

By now Aragorn had reached the base of the stairs and he launched himself toward Haldir, flinging his arms about him in joy and relief. The Elf, always so reticent, was startled at first, but after a moment's hesitation carefully returned the embrace. Then the two stepped apart.

"You are _most_ welcome," Aragorn enthused. Now Legolas stepped forward. His embrace of Haldir was more restrained than Aragorn's but no less heartfelt. As the two Elves smiled at each other, at some unspoken command the troop of Elves suddenly pivoted and faced Théoden. Haldir and Legolas stepped apart, and the Lórien Elf turned again toward the King. "We are proud to fight alongside Men once more," he declared. It seemed to Théoden's Men that a glow surrounded the Elf as he spoke, and their hearts warmed at the sight.

Now Haldir was closeted with Aragorn, Théoden, and Éomer as they laid their final plans for the defense of Helm's Deep. Legolas and Gimli, meanwhile, had returned to the mess. They knew that soon they would be summoned to take their places on the ramparts, and they were enjoying what might be their last meal together. But perhaps not, Legolas thought to himself, sipping the last of the wine from the bottle that Gimli had stolen from the King's cellar. 'Against all expectations, Aragorn returned to us', Legolas said to himself. 'Against all expectations, allies have appeared upon our doorstep. There is always hope. Yes', the Elf concluded, 'there is always hope'.


	26. Chapter 26: Lightning Strikes

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's. In this chapter, I follow Tolkien in having Éomer present at Helm's Deep.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers: **_**Tears of Eternal Darkness, **_**who has recently weighed in with a review of Chapters 1 and 2,**_** punkballet, Joee1, kitsune, SpiceChaiPrincessOfDoom, Opalkitty, Elfinabottle, **__**CAH, The Inebriated Lion-Minion, **_**and **_**fair rider**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Lord of the Rings.**_

**Beta Reader: **_**Dragonfly**_

**Chapter 26: Lightning Strikes**

High upon the Deeping Wall, Legolas stood on the parapet peering into the darkness. He could not yet see the approaching army, but he could feel its presence. Beside him stood Gimli, who, even if their foes had been in sight, would have been unable to see them, for the top of this part of the parapet was higher than his head. "You could have picked a better spot," grumbled Gimli. Legolas ignored him, knowing the Dwarf well enough by now to be able to tell the difference between bluster and genuine ire.

As Elf and Dwarf peered into the darkness, both began to sense a rumble that was more a vibration under their feet than a sound. It put Legolas in mind of an earth tremor that he had experienced long ago when still a fosterling in Elrond's household, but the Elf knew from Aragorn's report that it was instead the tramp of thousands of feet striking the ground in unison. Soon after they first sensed this ominous disturbance in the quiet of the earth, they began to see tiny specks of light flickering faraway—torches borne by their foes, who no doubt carried them in expectation that they would soon be used to fire the timbers of the fortress's keep. To carry torches so openly, Legolas reflected ruefully, was a sign and emblem of the boldness and strength of the Uruk army. An army unsure of itself relies upon stealth, but these Uruk knew that they did not march upon a well-defended fortress but against one whose defenses had been hastily thrown together at the eleventh hour. No doubt, Legolas thought, the Rohirrim had Gríma Wormtongue to thank for the Uruks' arrogance, for when last seen the traitor had been riding directly toward Isengard. Thus Saruman knew how weak they were, and thus his army did not creep but marched openly for all to see. Indeed, they surely expected that by flaunting their numbers they would demoralize the defenders of Helm's Deep—if that were possible, given how frightened these plowmen-turned-soldiers already were.

As Legolas and Gimli kept vigil, to either side stood Lórien Elves, their countenances calm but alert. At length, equally calm, Aragorn joined them. Gimli glanced sideways at the Ranger and bestowed a laconic blessing upon him. "Well, lad," the Nauga grunted, "whatever luck you live by, let's hope it lasts the night."

As the three Hunters stood together, perhaps for the last time, the sky, lowering as if in communion with the hopeless folk huddled below, was split into shards by a bolt of lightning that Legolas fancied had been cast from the pinnacle of Orthanc by Saruman himself, for the shaft seemed to race toward them from the northwest. In its wake, in the lurid light of riving bolt, the defenders of Helm's Deep perceived at last the full extent of the enemy massed against them, for as far as they could see, unto the very horizon, the Uruk-hai swarmed. The valley before the fortress was like a cauldron roiling with a viscous dark liquid.

Legolas' eyes widened at the sight of their massed foes, but his spirit did not falter. "Your friends are with you, Aragorn," he said quickly.

"Let's hope _they_ last the night," quipped Gimli mordantly.

Aragorn turned aside without giving any sign that he heard his friends' very different attempts to offer their support, but Legolas knew that he had. The Ranger had said nothing because there was no need, just as there had been little need for words after Legolas had proffered Aragorn his sword in the armory. Their piffling quarrels—between Elf and Man, between Dwarf and Elf—were outweighed by the stalwart loyalty that each felt for the others.

Aragorn resumed his inspection of the defenses. Haldir had ceded to him the command of the Lórien troops, for the March Warden, although he knew the Common Speech, did not speak it as proficiently as Aragorn spoke Sindarin, the language of the Elves. The Ranger would be able to communicate between the Eldar and the Rohirrim with no need of a translator—and therefore with a swiftness and clarity that might prove crucial in the midst of battle.

As Aragorn strode amongst the warriors, the weather worsened. The lightning rived the sky with greater frequency, and its accompanying thunder metamorphosed from an occasional clap to a continuous roar. A heavy rain began to beat upon Gimli's helmet. Stolidly, the Dwarf ignored its battering. As for Legolas, as usual, he wore no helm. The rain pelted him, beading in his eyelashes and running down his neck, but like Gimli he was untroubled by the downpour and instead fixed his eyes upon the flickering torches that marked the furthest advance of their foes. In the vale before the fortress a huge boulder pushed its way up through the soil. When the vanguard of the Uruk-hai reached this rock, a creature massive even for an Uruk—their captain no doubt—clambered upon it and brandished his scimitar. His fellows swarmed past the boulder and at his signal (a guttural howl) came to a halt barely within bowshot of the wall. Aragorn shouted final admonitions to his warriors. "A Eruchîn," he cried, "ú-dano i faelas a hyn an uben tanatha le faelas!" _Show them no mercy, for you shall receive none!_

As Aragorn relayed commands to his warriors, the opposing captain bellowed his own orders. His uncouth tongue captured the malice that Saruman would unleash upon the folk of Rohan, and in frenzied response the Orcs and Uruks out-howled the thunder. Gimli, frustrated at his inability to see the cause of the uproar, jumped up and down in a futile attempt to catch sight of the foes on the other side of the wall. "What's happening out there?" he demanded.

Legolas looked down at the Dwarf. "Shall I describe it to you?" he said with an air of insouciance. "Or would you like me to find you a box?"

Gimli shot him an exasperated look but guffawed nonetheless. A few months ago, Legolas mused, Gimli would have been furious at having an Elf jibe him over his height. Now, however, their exchanges were invariably more banter than argument.

Legolas's reflections were interrupted by a new sound, and he returned his attention to the army massed before Helm's Deep. To intimidate the defenders of the fortress, the Uruk-hai had begun to rhythmically pound their spear butts in unison upon the ground whilst striking their fists upon their chests. The noise was loud enough so that the thunder could no longer be heard even as lightning continued to split the sky. Rohirrim and Elves alike fitted arrow to bow, and Legolas looked about for Aragorn. The Dúnadan had drawn his sword and held it before him but had not yet signaled that they should fire. Legolas and the other Elves continued to hold themselves at the ready, for they were a disciplined force and awaited orders. From somewhere amongst the Men, however, a shaft was let loose. Legolas followed the missile with his eyes and saw it strike an Uruk who stood in the frontline of their foes. For a minute the creature stood as if the arrow had riveted him to the ground before pitching face-forward. The Uruks to either side of the carcass snarled, their breath steaming in the cold, dark air. On the walls, nervous Men drew their bows taut, and even some of the Elves pulled back their bow strings. "Dartho!" shouted Aragorn. _Hold! _Legolas knew that Aragorn wanted no arrow wasted. Every last missile must find a fatal mark in the body of a foe.

The Uruks were no longer pounding their spears upon the ground but instead were brandishing their weapons and snarling like rabid wolves. Their captain pointed his scimitar toward the fortress and bellowed something in his uncouth tongue. The Uruks swarmed forward, an unbroken mass of howling and gesticulating creatures who had no goal but the destruction of all within the walls of Helm's Deep.

"Tangado a chadad!" shouted Aragorn to his Lórien troops. _Prepare to fire!_

Elves held themselves in readiness to either side of Gimli and Legolas, and Legolas alerted his kinsmen to a flaw in their enemies' defenses. "Faeg i-varv dîn na lanc a nu ranc," he declared. _Their armor is weak at the neck and beneath the arm._

Aragorn stood stone-still until even the normally calm Legolas felt his fingers twitching upon his bowstring. Only when the Uruks were mere meters from the wall did the Man break his silence. "Leithio i philinn!" he shouted. _Release the arrows!_

Legolas and the other Elves shot off their missiles. From below, shrieks arose and innumerable Uruks stumbled and fell. They were soon replaced, however, by their equally innumerable fellows, who in their bloodlust trampled heedlessly over their dead and dying comrades.

Upon the wall, Gimli jumped up and down in a futile attempt to see what had transpired. "Did they hit anything?" he cried, frustrated at being unable to play his part in the battle. But Legolas was too intent upon firing arrow after arrow to answer the agitated Dwarf. With one corner of his mind Legolas noticed a volley of Rohirrim arrows passing overhead and knew that Éomer and Théoden's lieutenant, Gamling, had ordered their Men to release their own missiles. The Elf, however, focused his attention upon Aragorn. The Dúnadan had taken up a position behind and a little above Legolas and Gimli so that he might better direct his troops, but the Elf had no difficulty in hearing the Man as he shouted "Ribed bant!" _Full volley! _Legolas and the other Elves eagerly obliged, and many more of the enemy fell. Yet their foes kept on coming, as unstoppable as an outpouring of deadly lava. Gimli was now in an agony of frustration, his martial impulses thwarted. On the other side of a wall that he could not see over, their foes were assailing the fortress, and Gimli could do nothing. "Send them to me!" he raged. "Come on!" Had Legolas had the time, he might have pointed out the illogic of the Dwarf's words. Taken literally, the Dwarf demanded that the Uruks should penetrate the outer wall. Of course, Gimli did not truly wish that the defenses be breached; his imprecations merely reflected his fury at the fact that, as a wielder of axes, he could offer his friends no aid. For the time being, the battle was between the archers of the opposing armies. Elven and human bowmen tried to keep the Uruks from reaching the wall and raising ladders; the Uruks for their part tried to clear the wall of defenders.

The Elves near Gimli were partially sheltering by the stones of Helm's Deep, but they had to expose themselves whenever they got off a shot. The Elves were far and away the better marksmen, but the Uruks made up in numbers what they lacked in skill. By showering the Elves with cross-bow bolts, Saruman's minions could not fail to hit an Elf from time to time. When an Uruk fell, his place was immediately taken by another. Not so the Elves, and gaps began to appear in the line of defenders. Éomer and Gamling sent forward Men to fill the gaps, but as bowmen they were not as skilled as the Elves. The first Uruks reached the wall.

Whilst Gimli had been grinding his teeth in frustration, Legolas had been exhausting his stock of arrows. When Gimli saw that his friend had run out of missiles, he began to scramble about scavenging arrows from the quivers of fallen Elves. Legolas spared the Dwarf a grateful nod as the Nauga thrust a handful of arrows at him. If necessary, the Elf would have flung crossbow bolts back at the Uruks that had launched them, but he was relieved that his friend had made the attempt unnecessary. As for Gimli, he was desperately pleased to be able to do something, anything, to protect Helm's Deep and the folk that it sheltered.

On his hands and knees, Gimli crawled about collecting more arrows. When he had an armful, he arose and scrambled back to Legolas, piling them at the feet of the Elf. Then he looked up. Legolas was leaning over the parapet and shooting straight down into the Uruks massing at its base. Gimli saw how he exposed himself to enemy missiles and grew frightened for him. "You fool of an Elf," he screamed. "You will be no good to us as an Uruk pin-cushion." Legolas ducked down, and several crossbow bolts passed through the air at the spot where he had been standing. "You are as reckless as Aragorn," scolded Gimli. At that moment, Aragorn himself made his voice heard. "Pendraith," Legolas and Gimli heard him shout. _Ladders!_ Gimli instantly forgot his ire. "Good!" he bellowed, hefting his axe.

As their enemies began to scramble up the ladders that had been thrust against the wall, Aragorn shouted to his warriors to unsheathe their swords, and the first few Uruks who reached the defenders were thrust through with the blades of the Eldar. Screaming, the creatures plummeted back down to the earth. As they fell they turned into missiles, knocking many of their comrades from their perches on the ladders down onto the spears of the Uruks below. Yet so vast was the enemy army that no sooner had one Uruk fallen than three or even four had taken his place. All too soon the first Uruk had succeeded in crawling over the wall. He was felled at once by Legolas, but whilst the Elf dispatched the one foe, others swarmed over the parapet. Now there was plenty of work for both Elf and Dwarf, and Gimli threw himself into the fray with a vigor that was the equal of his earlier ire. Clambering atop the bodies of two fallen Uruks, the Dwarf with one mighty swing of his axe added a third body to the pile. Then he sprang aside with a nimbleness that would have impressed Legolas as another Uruk tried to dismember him with his scimitar. Gimli threw himself to the ground and slid between the legs of the Uruk, then twisted about and thrust upward with his axe. The Uruk toppled over, and Gimli shouted triumphantly to his friend. "Legolas! Two already!"

Legolas's lips twitched slightly as he shouted back, "I'm on seventeen!" This was, of course, a gross undercount. Legolas had hit many more than that, but he was only including in his tally those foes whose injuries were so severe that they had died upon the instant. For Gimli, however, even the lesser count was too high. "I'll have no pointy-ear outscoring me!" he fumed as he pivoted in time to slay an Uruk that was on the verge of clambering from a ladder. Even as Gimli did so, however, Legolas shot off two more arrows. "Nineteen!" he shouted provokingly. Gimli swore and laid about him in a fury. No beardless bairn was going to show _him_ up! "Seventeen!" he grunted. "Eighteen! Nineteen! Twenty! Twenty-one!" "There!" he panted, looking about for another target for his axe. Instead, on the opposite end of the parapet he saw the old Man whose wife had lain upon the hard rock until Gimli had fashioned a bed for her. The Man was gamely fending off an enormous Uruk-hai, but Gimli knew that he could not withstand the creature for long. Despairingly, Gimli watched as the Uruk bore the Man to the ground and raised his scimitar to dispatch him. For once in his life, the Dwarf wished he were an Elf, for then he should have saved the old Man with a well-shot arrow. Axe-wielder that he was, he was too far from the man to assist him; too many foes stood in his way. Suddenly, however, the Uruk howled in agony. Dropping his scimitar, the creature stood swaying for a moment before collapsing to the ground. Astonished, Gimli saw that one of his own axes protruded from the neck of the Uruk-hai. 'How came that axe there?' he wondered as he fought his way toward the old Man. In answer, a small figure leaped out from behind the remnants of a shattered barricade and stooped over the Uruk, yanking the axe free and then scrambling to the Man, helping him to his feet.

"O ho!" chortled Gimli. "Haleth son of Háma. Good lad!" Cutting through a few more Uruk-hai, the Dwarf reached the unlikely pair of old Man and young boy and commenced covering their retreat toward a band of Men led by Éomer.

While Gimli had fought his way toward Haleth and the old Man, Legolas and Aragorn had been trying to prevent additional Uruks from reaching the top of the wall or from breaching the Main Gates. Aragorn had leaped atop the wall to push over several ladders whose fall had slain not only the Uruks who had been clinging to the cross-pieces but also those on the ground who were crushed underneath the ruined siege equipment. Well-equipped with arrows through Gimli's efforts, Legolas, too, took his toll of both Uruks on the ladders and on the ground. As he stood rapidly releasing arrow after arrow, he suddenly heard Aragorn call his name. "Togo hon dad, Legolas!" shouted the Dúnadan. _Bring him down, Legolas! _The Elf looked to where the Man was gesturing and saw an enormous Uruk bearing a torch and racing toward a culvert. Legolas knew that the culvert was blocked by a metal grate, but Aragorn nonetheless seemed to view this Uruk as a serious threat, and Legolas acted accordingly. He shot off an arrow aimed at the Uruk's exposed shoulder. The creature flinched when the missile struck him but did not break stride. Aragorn was frantic now. "Dago hon! Dago hon!" he shouted. _Kill him! Kill him! _Legolas released another arrow, again striking the Uruk in the shoulder. This second missile had scarcely any more effect than the first. The creature jerked sideways slightly, but then recovered. With a howl, he barreled forward and flung himself into the culvert.

For a heartbeat nothing happened, and then it felt as if a thunderclap had been released beneath the feet of the defenders. The wall and the warriors immediately above the culvert disintegrated, massive blocks of stone were flung on all sides, and a mushroom cloud of smoke and dust arose into the air.

Legolas was thrown back several feet by the explosion, coming to rest on his hands and knees. Staggering to his feet, he rushed forward and looked for Aragorn. Where his friend had been standing, Legolas saw—nothing.


	27. Chapter 27: Hope Beyond Hope

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's. In this chapter, I follow Tolkien in having Éomer present at Helm's Deep and having Erkenbrand be the one who accompanies Gandalf in raising the siege. I am also following Jackson in having Haldir lead a force of Elves to Helm's Deep, but do not be too hasty in reacting to what befalls Haldir in this chapter! You may wish to suspend judgment until you read Chapter 28.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers: **_**Joee1, elsbeth, Telcontar Rulz,, Elfinabottle, CAH, **_**and **_**The Inebriated Lion-Minion**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Lord of the Rings.**_

**Beta Reader: **_**Dragonfly**_

**Chapter 27: Hope Beyond Hope **

Frantically Legolas looked all about him for some sign of either Aragorn or Gimli. He spied Gimli first. The Dwarf was amongst the dazed soldiers who were picking themselves up from where they had been thrown down atop the surviving portion of the Deeping Wall. Legolas saw his friend sit up and shake his head as if to clear it of confusion. Knowing that Gimli was safe for the moment, Legolas sought for Aragorn. A few swift glances were enough for the Elf to see that the Man was not upon the parapet. The Sinda sprang to a spot where the wall abruptly ended in shattered masonry and peered over the edge. Below dust and smoke swirled, and at first the Elf could make out nothing. Then he spied a familiar boot. Following it eagerly with his eyes, he traced the prone body of the Dúnadan. For a horrifying moment Legolas was certain that his friend was dead, but then the Man moved, trying to push himself up on his elbows. Legolas felt relief, but this relief was quickly once again replaced by horror. A horde of Uruk-hai was surging through the breach that had been blown in the wall, and Aragorn lay directly in their path. Hastily Legolas drew an arrow, but he knew that he could never get off enough shots to prevent the Uruks from overrunning his friend. 'And so Hope dies', Legolas thought bleakly. 'But while I still draw breath, let me avenge him'.

But vengeance was not needful—at least not yet. With a roar all out of proportion to his size, a compact figure leapt from the fragment of wall directly above the oncoming Uruks. "Gimli!" gasped Legolas. The Uruks were of course charging with their spears pointed forward, so the small but doughty warrior escaped being skewered as he landed upon his foes. Instead, his leap threw the line into confusion, one Uruk stumbling into the next, so that the momentum of the charge was for a moment halted. It was a brief respite, but long enough to allow Aragorn to recover his wits. He rose to his feet and rallied those Elves and Men who like him had survived being thrown from the wall. Raising his sword, he shouted to the Lórien archers. "Hado i philinn!" he cried. _Release the arrows! _Although shaken by the explosion, the Elves nevertheless unleashed a withering barrage of their remaining missiles. Their numbers decimated, the Uruks stumbled about, a picture of pandemonium, and Aragorn took advantage of their disarray to seize the offensive. "Herio!" he shouted. _Charge! _Brandishing his sword, he raced toward the enemy, and emboldened by his fearlessness, Men and Elves alike followed hard on his heels. They might be running headlong toward Death, but they were doing so willingly if that meant dying in company with Courage.

When the wall had collapsed, a torrent of water from a reservoir had poured through the gap, and in the mêlée Gimli had been knocked into the resulting pool. Legolas shot dead any Uruk who ventured near the Dwarf as he struggled to extricate himself, and then Aragorn reached him, plunging an arm into the water and dragging the Dwarf onto dry land. Relieved, Legolas abandoned his position on the wall. Men, Elves, and Uruks were intermingled in hand-to-hand combat, and he deemed that he could now better serve his comrades on the ground. Flinging a shield ahead of him, he sprinted toward a stairway that the explosion had left intact. As he reached the steps, he leaped upon the shield and sledded down upon it, drawing and firing as he advanced at a speed that would have been a breakneck one for a human. Reaching the bottom, he leaped from the shield, kicked it into the air, caught it, and then whipped it forward, its leading edge catching an Uruk-hai on the throat and effectively decapitating him. Springing over the corpse, the Elf drew his two knives, the blades gifted him long ago by Elrohir and Elladan, and fulfilled the twins' prediction that he it was that would make the best use of them. Each hand seemed to move independently of the other, one blade striking to the left, the other to the right, one cutting high, the other low. His foes did not know which way to look, nor how to fend off the fatal blow that could come from any direction.

Yet neither courage nor skill could hold the Uruk at bay for long. Little by little the number of defenders dwindled, while every Uruk who fell was immediately replaced by one of the horde pushing to gain entry through the shattered wall. From his vantage point on the Hornburg's inner wall, Théoden soon saw that there was nothing to be gained by continuing to defend the outer rampart. He gave the command to retreat. "Aragorn," he shouted, "fall back to the Keep! Get your men out of there!" Aragorn gestured that he understood. "Nan Barad!" he shouted. "Nan Barad! _To the Keep! Pull back to the Keep!_

As Legolas began to fall back, he heard Aragorn shouting to the Elves who had remained on top of the surviving portions of the outer rampart to battle Uruks who had succeeded in scaling the ladders in the aftermath of the explosion. "Haldir, nan Barad!" the Dúnadan was shouting. _Haldir, to the Keep! _Then Legolas spied Haleth and the old Man and even young Éothain upon the wall. They were none of them archers, but they had been throwing rocks upon the heads of the Uruks who had poured in through the breach. "To the Keep," the Elf shouted at the trio. He glanced over his shoulder. Aragorn was racing up the steps toward Haldir's position. 'Good', Legolas said to himself. 'Aragorn will cover Haldir's back'. Legolas turned his attention to Gimli, who was loath to abandon his position. The Sinda and another Elf seized Gimli by the arms and dragged him, protesting, toward the Keep. Then Legolas checked one last time on the safety of the two boys and the old Man and saw that they were barely holding off a pair of Uruk as they retreated step by step toward the fortress. He quickly got off two shots and felled the Uruks. Then he scrambled up the rubble to reach the trio of humans. Keeping himself between them and the Uruks who had sprung up to replace the two he had killed, the Elf kept the enemy at bay with shot after shot until the Man and two boys reached the safety of the inner wall. Seconds later, Aragorn raced within as well. In the confusion of the retreat, Legolas saw neither Haldir nor Éomer, but one of the Men cried out to the King that his nephew had barricaded himself and his warriors into one of the caves. As Haldir had been near Éomer's position, Legolas thought it likely that Haldir and his Elves had accompanied the Man. He turned his attention to helping prevent the Uruks from breaking through the causeway gate. Should the Uruks breach that barrier, they would be able to bring their battering ram to bear upon the last door that stood between them and the people sheltering within the fortress. Legolas stood on the Hornburg wall overlooking the gate and fired at the enemy. Below him a scrum of Men tried desperately to brace the gate, but as the Men tried to lift timbers into position, Uruks thrust their spears through the gaps that they had battered. Glancing down, Legolas saw that Théoden himself, sword drawn, had come to the defense of the gate. A few minutes later, though, Théoden was dragged to safety by Gamling, for it was more needful that the King lead than that he lend his body to the barricade. Just before Legolas turned back to get off another shot, he spied Aragorn speaking urgently to Théoden. When he looked again, Aragorn was nowhere in sight. Nor was there any sign of Gimli. Yet in a moment the Dwarf came in view, but from a direction and in a manner most unexpected. Surely there was a secret exit from the Keep, for Gimli suddenly flew onto the causeway from a rocky ledge somewhere below and to the left of Legolas. 'That was a mighty leap!' the astonished Elf thought. Clearly, Dwarves were much more agile than he had believed. An instant later Aragorn landed upon the causeway as well, and Man and Dwarf held the Uruks at bay while Théoden's soldiers hastily finished reinforcing the gate.

From time to time glancing anxiously at Gimli and Aragorn, Legolas continued to wield his bow to great effect. The Uruks had shot grappling hooks atop the walls of the Hornburg, and with the ropes attached to these hooks were attempting to raise ladders even larger than the ones they had been raising by hand. One particularly massive ladder, with numerous Uruks clinging to it, had been hoisted almost entirely upright. Just in time, Legolas shot off an arrow that severed one of the ropes supporting this siege engine, and the ladder fell, carrying to their deaths the numerous Uruks who clung to it and crushing others on the ground.

As the ladder crashed to earth, Legolas heard Théoden shouting to Aragorn and Gimli that their task was done. "Gimli! Aragorn! Get out of there!" the King called. Legolas glanced down just as an Uruk launched himself at his two friends. Gimli and Aragorn fought off their assailant as Legolas threw down a rope. "Aragorn," the Elf shouted. The Man seized hold of the rope with one hand and wrapped his free arm around Gimli. Aragorn sprang off to one side, clear of the causeway, and Legolas and one of Théoden's Men hauled the Ranger and the Dwarf up atop the wall. As they did so, the gate gave way. Even reinforced, it had been unable to withstand the repeated blows of the battering ram. Théoden gave the order for all to retreat within the Great Hall. "Pull everybody back. Pull them back," he shouted to Gamling. "Fall back! Fall back!" Gamling bellowed. "Hurry!" Aragorn shouted to Legolas. "Inside. Get them inside!" Shooing Haleth and his friends before him, Legolas once again took up a position as rear guard, shooting repeatedly over his shoulder at the oncoming enemy.

Legolas ran into the Great Hall only a few meters ahead of the leading Uruks, and at once the door was swung shut and the crossbar dropped into place. Only minutes later, the door was trembling from the blows of the Uruks' battering ram.

Everyone—Man and boy, Elf and Dwarf—began to seize the heaviest pieces of furniture within reach to reinforce the door. Tables were upended unceremoniously, the mugs and plates crashing to the floor, and dragged to the door to be tossed on the growing barricade. In the midst of the hubbub, though, Théoden stood strangely silent.

"The fortress is taken," he said woodenly. "It is over."

As if to punctuate his words, a boom sounded as the ram again struck the door. Aragorn and Legolas at that moment were tossing a bench before the door. The two ran back in Théoden's direction, Legolas to seize another bench, Aragorn to expostulate with the King. "You said this fortress would never fall while your men defend it," he cried. "They _still_ defend it. They have _died_ defending it!"

The King stood silent. Aragorn tried again. "Is there no other way for the women and children to get out of the caves?" he implored. Théoden continued mute.

"Is there no other way?" cried Aragorn.

Gamling spoke then. "There is one passage. It leads into the mountains. But they will not get far," he added gloomily. "The Uruk-hai are too many."

Aragorn took charge, clapping his hand upon Gamling's shoulder. "Tell the women and children to make for the mountain pass. And have the entrance to the cave barricaded behind them!"

Suddenly Théoden spoke, his voice distant. "So much death," he said almost inaudibly. "What can Men do against such reckless hate?"

Aragorn tried to shake him from his stupor. "Ride out with me," he said commandingly. "Ride out and meet them."

Théoden stared at the Ranger. Slowly his downcast expression was replaced by a look of determination. It was not a look of hope, no, but the expression of a man who was resolved to die honorably. "For death and glory," he declared.

"For Rohan," Aragorn replied. "For your people."

Gimli had been helping Legolas drag a table to the barricade. Abruptly the Nauga paused and looked up at an embrasure. A faint ray of light broke through the dust-filled air.

"The sun is rising," he said thoughtfully. Legolas followed his gaze. Suddenly he remembered what Gandalf had said before he had left them: "Look to my coming at first light. At dawn, look to the east." Would this be the morning of his return? Legolas and Gimli both turned toward Aragorn. He was standing transfixed, gazing at the ray of light in which dust motes shone golden. Something of his mood must have conveyed itself to Théoden. "Yes," the King said softly. "Yes," he said more loudly. "The horn of Helm Hammerhand," he continued even more loudly, "shall sound in the Deep—one last time!" Those last words he proclaimed with vigor, and the soldiers frantically piling furniture before the door stopped and looked at him.

"We ride out, Gamling," declared the King, turning to his lieutenant. "Have horses brought up. Have Men standing by to clear the door when all is ready."

His eyes gleaming, Gamling swiftly inclined his head. "Yes!" growled Gimli. He turned to Haleth. "This horn of Helm Hammerhand, lad, where be it?"

"This way, Master Dwarf ," said the boy. "It is atop the tower we climbed but yesterday."

Gimli groaned and rolled his eyes, but he eagerly hurried after the boy, who had darted through a doorway.

Behind him, Gamling ordered the old Man to take charge of a work party that would stand at the ready to remove the hasty barricade once the horses were in position. Then he hastened after Legolas, who, led by Éothain, was already making for the stables. Into the stables poured all able-bodied Men and Elves who were able to ride, and in short order all were mounted and clattering through the corridors of the Hornburg on their way back to the Great Hall. Legolas was mounted on Arod and led Brego, and Gamling rode Hasufel and led the King's stallion Snowmane. As they clattered into the Hall, a waiting Théoden clapped his hand onto Aragorn's shoulder. "Let this be the hour when we draw swords together," he said proudly. Aragorn nodded, his face a profile of courage, and Legolas brought up his horse. The Dúnadan laid his hand upon the pommel and swung himself into the saddle whilst Théoden mounted Swowmane. Aragorn and the King loosened their swords in their sheaths, and Legolas checked his knives. Then the Elf looked about and to his dismay caught sight of Éothain mounted upon the great horse Garulf. "No!" the Elf shouted, urging his steed toward the boy and trying to lay hold of Garulf's reins. But before he could do so, the air began to vibrate with the sound of the mighty voice of Helm Hammerhand. Arod shied, and Éothain, his face stubbornly set, backed up his horse out of reach. Then several things happened all at once. The voice of Helm Hammerhand, deep and sonorous, again filled the air, and Théoden drew and brandished his sword and cried loudly, "Fell deeds, awake! Now for wrath! Now for ruin, and a red dawn!" The door, from which the barricade had been removed, suddenly flew open. "Forth Eorlingas!" shouted Théoden. Side by side Aragorn and the King spurred their horses through the door, riding down the Uruks who had been manning the ram. Behind them pressed Elves and Men eager to die valiantly, and Éothain's plough horse was swept forward with the other mounts. "Burzum!" swore Legolas, reverting to an oath in Black Speech that he had not uttered since adolescence, when such language had seemed daring. Then he was forced to turn his attention to his enemies.

The Uruks, although taken aback by the sudden charge of the Hall's defenders, quickly recovered and began to press them hard. Legolas laid about him with his blades, but he was beset on all sides. Several hands laid hold of his horse, and one hand clutched at the Elf's tunic. Suddenly that hand went flying, having been neatly severed at the wrist. "Keep your hands off my Elf," roared a familiar voice. "You may be sure that his hand is off now, Gimli," shouted Legolas as he hacked at the remaining hands. After having given voice to Helm Hammerhand, Gimli in his zeal had very nearly tumbled down the stairs in his haste to regain his companions. Now, while Legolas struck at his foes from above, the Dwarf scrambled underneath Arod and from beneath the horse cut several Uruks off at the knees—literally, of course. "Aragorn," shouted Legolas. "Help Aragorn!" The Elf gestured with his knife, and the Dwarf saw that Aragorn and the King had been driven apart and that the Dúnadan was encircled by Uruks. With another roar, Gimli commenced cleaving a path toward the Ranger.

As the Dwarf reached the Man, Legolas suddenly caught sight of a fresh company of horsemen, this one approaching from below the causeway. Éomer! So it was true, then, that the King's nephew and his éored had taken refuge in a cave. At the sounding of the horn, they had hastily mounted horses and broken through the band of Uruks who besieged them. Legolas found himself grinning fiercely as he slew. Beyond hope, there _was_ hope.

The Elf's spirits rose further when he caught sight of an unscathed Éothain. The boy's horse, unaccustomed to battle, was running wild, and Uruks fled before it as it reared and plunged. 'O ho!' laughed the Elf. ''Tis an idea worth pursuing: using farm beasts as warriors. Why, a panicked herd of cattle would be well nigh unstoppable, I reckon!' Éothain was clinging flat to the back of the horse as it rampaged through the Uruk army, and Legolas believed that the lad was safer there than anywhere else on the field. The boy might very well survive the battle.

Cheerfulness was an odd emotion to be found in the midst of battle, but Legolas felt something akin to it as he continued to ply his blades. He had forgotten his game with Gimli, but now he began to count anew. "Thirty-three," he chanted. "Thirty-four, thirty-five!" He caught sight of Aragorn, rescued from peril by Gimli's efforts. "Thirty-six, thirty-seven!" he sang. He heard the Dwarf's voice as the Nauga resumed his own count. "Thirty-five!" bellowed Gimli. "Hear it and weep, Legolas!"

Yet the fact remained that for every Uruk slain, another would spring up in his place. The momentum of the charge was at last exhausted, and the last defenders of Helm's Deep were being pressed inexorably into a smaller and smaller compass. But again, beyond hope there was hope. Aragorn suddenly reined up his horse and gazed toward the east. The orb of the sun, whose faint light they had first seen within the Great Hall, was nearly clear of the horizon. But there was another light, a shaft of white light that shot straight into the sky. "Gandalf," breathed Aragorn. Legolas followed his gaze. Not even the light of the rising sun was enough to obscure the figure cloaked in white who rode upon a great white stallion. "Gandalf!" shouted Legolas.

"About time," grunted Gimli, bringing his axe down upon the head of an Uruk who had stumbled and fallen.

Behind Gandalf was massed a mighty force of Riders. Théoden recognized their banners. "Erkenbrand!" exclaimed the King, his face marked by both joy and wonder. "Erkenbrand of the Westfold!"

Erkenbrand spurred his horse up alongside Gandalf. Together Man and Maia raised their swords. At that moment the sun freed itself from the horizon, and the charge of the Men of Westfold began. They galloped from the east, the sun at their backs their ally. But the sun was not their only friend. For in the west was planted a forest where the night before only boulders had broken the plain.

Trapped between two forces, blinded both by terror and by the light of sun and staff, the Uruks abandoned all pretense of discipline. They scurried here and there like termites suddenly exposed to the light by the destruction of their nest. Horses trampled them, missiles pierced them, and they were hewn both by sword and axe. Those that did not fall before the Hornburg fled toward the forest. Loath were they to enter that brooding wood, but the onslaught of Man, Elf, and Dwarf left them no choice. The tree limbs were curved like claws, and ropy vines hung down like a trapper's nets, but beneath these fearsome objects the Uruks must perforce take shelter.

In the exhilaration of victory, the Rohirrim would have ridden after the fleeing Uruk-hai, and Legolas would have entered the wood out of curiosity, but Gandalf prevented them. "Stay out of the forest! Keep away from the trees!" he commanded. Legolas and the others reined up and stared at the forest as the last Uruk disappeared beneath its shadow. Within a few minutes, the trees began to sway and dip. Legolas squinted. It seemed to him as if limbs were reaching down and seizing objects from the floor of the forest and then raising these objects to the crowns. He heard shrieks and howls and simultaneously crunching and grinding noises. After a few minutes the shrieks and howls faded away, but the crunching and grinding continued for awhile. Then at length those noises, too, faded away. The trees seemed to shrug and settle themselves, and then all was quiet—save for what sounded like a belch. Legolas turned and looked for Gimli, but he was nowhere near. He looked back at the trees, puzzled. Gandalf winked at him. "A well-deserved repast, lad," he said mysteriously. "Later you shall meet the founder of the feast."

The warriors reined about their horses and cantered back toward the Hornburg. Legolas rode beside Éomer. "Was Haldir with you in the cave?" Legolas asked the Man.

Éomer shook his head. "Nay, Legolas, but there are many caves. He could have been in another one."

Legolas nodded. "Of course." They reached the Keep, and Legolas and the others dismounted. Much labor awaited them: their injured had to be nursed and their dead buried. As for the Uruk carcasses, they could not be left lying before the fortress. And there were other matters that needed tending to. "Mind the horse!" somebody shouted, and Legolas jumped aside as Garulf blundered through the knot of warriors. Éothain, looking rather white in the face, was still clinging to the steed. Legolas sprang once more upon Arod and rode in pursuit of the runaway. It did not take him long to catch up to the panicked stallion, for Garulf was, after all, a plough horse and built for draft rather than speed. Legolas leaned over and seized the slack reins and rode alongside the horse, speaking softly in elvish. Gradually the horse calmed and came to a halt. Legolas dismounted from his own steed, and stripping off Garulf's reins, used them to hobble the horse. Then he lifted Éothain from Garulf and placed him upon Arod. The boy flung his arms around the horse's neck and buried his face in his mane. Legolas leaped up behind the boy and, holding the horse to a walk, headed back toward the Keep.

"'Twas brave of you to ride out," the Elf said consolingly. The only reply was a snuffle.

"I do not think," Legolas continued, "that anyone will ever again say that Garulf is too big for you. You stuck to him like a burr in the midst of the greatest battle ever fought before the walls of Helm's Deep."

"I was frightened," came a small voice.

"As were we all," Legolas replied somberly.

Éothain lifted his head and twisted about to stare at the Elf. "But you are a great warrior!"

"The greatest of warriors may feel fear and despair," Legolas observed. "The night before the battle, truly, I succumbed to despair. I lost faith in myself and my friends. I lost faith in my leader."

"You did not think we would survive the night? Haleth said he asked Lord Aragorn whether we would."

"And what did the Lord Aragorn reply?"

"That there is always hope."

A smile quirked Legolas's lips. "Indeed, I reached the same conclusion. I recovered my spirits, and I embraced Hope."

By now they had regained to the base of the causeway, where Éomer stood giving commands for the clearing of the vale. He looked quizzically at the boy and Elf.

"Have you found a replacement for your Dwarf, Legolas?"

Legolas dismounted and helped Éothain down. He handed the boy the reins.

"Lead my horse to the stable—but don't try to ride him, I pray you! Then you should seek out your mother. No doubt she has been in fear for you these many hours."

The boy bowed. "Yes, Master Elf." He turned and led away the horse.

"A good boy, that," Legolas said to Éomer. "Brave and not without skill as a rider. I think he would be wasted as a ploughboy."

"I will think on it," said Éomer. "The Gods know that by the end of this war many empty saddles will need filling. For now, he may find employment in the stables, and his labor there will leave an ostler at liberty to ride into battle."

Legolas thanked Éomer and then began to look for his friends in earnest. He had seen Aragorn from afar in conversation with Théoden and Gandalf. It was for Haldir and Gimli that he therefore sought. He came upon Gimli first. He was comfortably seated and smoking his pipe. His 'bench' was the carcass of an Uruk-hai from whose head protruded the Dwarf's axe. Legolas stood before him and stroked his bow with a show of nonchalance. Offhandedly he announced, "Final count: forty-two."

Gimli removed his pipe from his mouth and airily blew a mouthful of smoke. "Forty-two?" he said, adopting the voice used by an adult who is pretending to be impressed by the accomplishments of a small child. "That's not _bad_ for a pointy-eared Elvish princeling." Then he added, "I myself am sitting pretty on forty-_three_."

Suddenly Legolas drew and shot an arrow. The missile passed between Gimli's legs, far too close to Gimli's little Gimli for the Dwarf's comfort.

"Forty-three," the Elf said smugly.

Gimli glowered at him. "He was already dead."

"He was twitching," protested Legolas.

"He was twitching," growled the Dwarf, "because he's got _my_ _axe_ embedded in his nervous system!" He seized the handle of the axe and yanked it, and in response the dead Uruk's limbs jerked. The Dwarf looked triumphantly at the Elf, who tried not to look crestfallen. "_My_ Uruks don't twitch!" the Elf replied defensively. "When I slay something, it _stays_ slain. I am going to find Haldir," he added abruptly before stalking off. Behind him the Dwarf grinned before snuffing his pipe and arising to go in search of Haleth and the old Man. He had watched from afar as Legolas saw to Éothain's safety, and he wanted to be equally sure of the welfare of the humans who had touched his own heart. He made for the cave, for he was sure that the old Man, if he had survived the battle, would return there at once to reassure his wife.

When Gimli arrived at the cave, he spotted the old Man almost at once. Beaming, the Dwarf hastened toward the Man, but then he came to a sudden halt, smile fading. At the feet of the Man rested the bed that the Dwarf had crafted, and the Lórien blanket that he had folded into a mattress for the Man's wife was now serving as a shroud.

"I am sorry for your loss," said Gimli, blinking back tears.

The old man shook his head. "Do not grieve, Master Dwarf. My wife lived long enough to see that I survived the battle. Not only that: our son rode amongst the Rohirrim who lifted the siege. She saw him ere she passed on. She died a happy woman, warm and comfortable on the fine bed you made her, tended by a kind woman and with her son and husband by her side. It was a good death."

"I am glad," Gimli said fervently. "But what of you? If your son is numbered amongst the warriors, then he shan't remain but will ride out again. You will be alone."

"Nay, Master Dwarf, he will not," piped up Freda. "My Ma promised that he should remain with us."

Gimli glanced over to where the child's mother bent over a cook fire, carefully feeding it twigs. As he watched, Haleth approached carrying a basket of roots.

'I reckon Haleth will be all right, too', he said to himself. 'Folk do draw together, whether distant kin or no kin at all'.

As if in confirmation of this notion, Legolas suddenly materialized.

"How do you _do_ that?" exclaimed Gimli, unnerved. Then his consternation changed to concern at the expression upon the Elf's face. "What's the matter, lad?"

"Haldir," Legolas said sadly. "He fell."

"Are ye sure? We thought Aragorn fell, but he came back. Gandalf, too."

Legolas shook his head. "Aragorn saw his death with his own eyes. An Uruk struck Haldir from behind. Aragorn fought his way to his side but could do naught but hold him as he passed on. I would search for his body, but Gandalf insists that we depart upon the instant, for he declares it necessary that Saruman be confronted without delay."

Gimli ground his teeth. It wasn't fair! It wasn't fair! Legolas had already suffered so much. Yes, it was true that Gandalf and Aragorn had returned, but not before Legolas had endured days of sorrow and nights of grief. And now a death had befallen that had been witnessed. The fall of Gandalf and the disappearance of Aragorn, the very uncertainty of their fate, had allowed for their return. But there would be no remedy for this loss, thought the Dwarf mournfully, no room for hope beyond hope.


	28. Chapter 28: Field of Death

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**This chapter is a revision of the story "The Return of the Elf."**

**Thanks to the following reviewers: **_**Joee1, windwraith, Telcontar Rulz,, Elfinabottle, LovewithWars, CAH, **_**and **_**The Inebriated Lion-Minion**_**. Also thanks to the following for reviewing Chapter 1: **_**potionsfailure**_** and **_**eiluj.**_** I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Lord of the Rings.**_

**Beta Reader: **_**Dragonfly**_

**Chapter 28: Field of Death **

**Vocabulary**

**crist—'sword' **

**elleth, ellith—'elf maiden', 'elf maidens' **

**hannon le—'thank you' **

**Hildegar—Battle Spear (Old English) **

**lang—'sword' **

**mae govannen—'well met' **

**magol—'sword' **

**megil—'sword' **

**mellon-nîn—'my friend' **

**nen—'water' **

**yrch—'orcs' **

The Battle for Helm's Deep was over, and Aragorn stood surveying a field of death covered with the corpses of both friend and foe. Somewhere out there, buried under the carcasses of foul Uruks, was the body of his friend Haldir. Aragorn could not remember a time when he had not known the March Warden. Haldir! He could be painfully serious upon occasion, but also kind and compassionate. Aragorn had lifted both sword and cup many a day with the Lórien Elf. Now he was no more.

As Aragorn brooded, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and whirled about, sword at the ready. There was always the possibility that an Uruk might lay hidden, feigning death in order to slay the unwary. But as quickly as he raised his sword he lowered it. This was no Uruk. Nay, it was a boy, freckled of face, his rusty hair long and unruly.

"Haleth son of Háma, is it not?"

"Aye, my Lord."

"So you see, Haleth, it is indeed true that there is always hope."

Haleth nodded and smiled a little. Aragorn laid his hand upon the lad's shoulder.

"I know it is hard to see victory in the face of the death of so many friends. Victory is never a pretty sight. Nevertheless, for all its ugliness, victory this is, and we shall make the best of it. Friend and kin shall be honored, and in their memory we shall carry the battle to our foes. The time will come when they look with despair upon such a field as this, but it will be upon their own doorstep, not ours."

Haleth straightened his shoulders.

"Shall I be there, my Lord?"

"It is King Théoden who will choose those who ride forth. Be sure, however, that whether or not you ride this day, your service in this war is not at an end."

With that, Aragorn bowed low to the astonished boy and strode on, looking for the companions of his quest. When he had found them, he went with them to the Great Hall, where Gandalf, Théoden, Éomer, and Erkenbrand awaited them.

"We must move quickly," Gandalf was saying, "for so shall the enemy. Warriors should be dispatched at once to Edoras, lest roving brigands reduce it to ashes in the absence of the King. It would be a pity if, having defeated the foe at Helm's Deep, the King had no home to return to! King Théoden, I would beg that you and a small party of riders meanwhile accompany me to Isengard, to confront its late master."

"Your counsel is good, my friend," said Théoden, "as it has ever been—even when I had not the wit to recognize it as so! Erkenbrand, you will swiftly lead a force to Edoras. Gather together as many mounted warriors as you can, save the few that will accompany me. Éomer, you shall ride with me. As my heir, you should now be present at all meetings of great import. You must be familiar with all that transpires so that you are ready to ascend to the throne upon an instant—I am an old Man, and this war is not yet over!"

"What of Helm's Deep?" asked Éomer. "There is much to be set in order here. The dead must be buried; the injured must be cared for; the refugees must be fed. Not all can ride out, for someone must take charge of these tasks.

"Haleth son of Háma," said Aragorn.

"We must make haste. It is the seasoned warriors who must ride," said Théoden impatiently. "Haleth is too young."

"Too young to ride," replied Aragorn, "but not too young to lead. Set him in charge of the tasks that must be accomplished here at Helm's Deep. He is his father's son and will serve you well."

Théoden looked thoughtful.

"Aye," he said, after a moment. "He is young, but in time of war ever the young perforce have stepped into the places of the old. Very well. Let Haleth son of Háma have the rule here in Helm's Deep."

Aragorn's confidence in Haleth had not been misplaced. Informed of the task with which he had been charged, the youth at once set out to organize the surviving refugees who were uninjured or at least hurt only slightly. Some he set to cooking and cleaning and minding those too young to work. Some he set to tending the injured. Some he set to dragging Uruk carcasses off to one side, as far from the fortress as strength and time permitted. Others he set to gathering and washing the bodies of their own dead, both Men and Elves. Above the bodies of the Men, Haleth caused barrows to be raised. As for the Elves, before departing Aragorn told Haleth that the Elves should be honored with a funeral pyre.

"They would not want to be buried in foreign soil. Through fire, release their spirits so that they may return to the West."

All was now in readiness for this funeral pyre. Haleth stood holding the torch, gazing for the last time upon the Fair Folk who had traveled far to assist those who were not their kin.

"Hannon le," he whispered reverentially. "Hannon le."

He bent forward to touch the torch to the pyre. Just then, however, he thought he saw a slight movement. He drew himself erect and handed the torch to one of his companions. Then he knelt down by the Elf who had seemed to move.

It was a fair-haired Elf, a bit taller and heavier than the Elf who went about with Lord Aragorn. Upon his back was a grievous wound, but as Haleth watched, he saw that his chest rose and fell, although the breaths were shallow. Haleth leaped to his feet and ordered that the Elf be quickly carried to the healers. He remained behind to check on the condition of each and every Elf who lay upon the funeral pyre. Only when he was satisfied that no others lived did he set alight the wood. Then he hastened back to the Keep to see how the survivor fared.

The healers had cleaned and dressed the wound, but in their faces it could plainly be seen that they doubted the Elf would live. Haleth ordered them to nevertheless do everything possible to restore him. Surely, he thought to himself, the Gods did not want this one to die. Yet day after day the Elf lay still, his chest rising and falling, but his eyes open and unfocused, as if he already walked among the dead. Every day Haleth visited him, but he saw no change.

Fascinated by the Fair Folk, Haleth had haunted their steps during the short time they had been in Helm's Deep, watching them and listening to their melodic speech. He had of course perceived that 'Hannon le' meant 'Thank you' and also that 'Mae govannen' signified 'Well met'. Beyond that, he could repeat various words, but knew not their meaning. At last he one day summoned forth every remembered phrase in a desperate attempt to rouse the Elf from his stupor.

"Yrch?" he said hopefully. He had heard that word uttered frequently.

The Elf flinched and moaned. Perhaps 'yrch' was not a good choice.

"Crist?"

The Elf did not move.

"Lang?"

Still no response.

"Magol? Megil?"

Haleth thought that he saw both a flicker in the eyes of the Elf and a slight smile upon his lips.

"Elleth?"

The Elf's eyes came into focus.

"Elleth?" he said slowly. "Where?"

"If you tell me what an 'elleth' is?" replied Haleth eagerly, "I shall fetch you one. Indeed, I shall fetch you elleths aplenty!"

The Elf chuckled softly.

"Ellith."

"Your pardon, my Lord?'

"The plural of 'elleth' is 'ellith'."

"Ellith?"

"Aye."

"Very well, then, my Lord. I shall fetch you some 'ellith' at once! Tell me what they are."

The Elf merely smiled.

"I thank you, but I doubt if you have any hereabouts. Besides, I would much prefer 'nen'."

"Nen?"

"Water."

Haleth leapt to his feet.

"I shall fetch you some 'nen' at once!"

Soon the youth was back with a water skin. Carefully, he raised the Elf's head slightly so that he could drink a few sips without choking.

"Hannon le," said the Elf at last.

"I know what that means," said Haleth proudly. "It means 'Thank you'!"

The Elf nodded slightly. Then, with an effort, he spoke again.

"If I am alive and you are alive, then we assuredly have won the battle. The Uruks would not have left any survivors."

"Yes," said Haleth. "We won, but at great cost. Your kinsmen…" The youth paused.

"Yes?" said the Elf.

"Not many of your kinsmen are still alive, and those who remain are for the most part grievously wounded."

The Elf nodded his understanding. "Legolas?" he said.

"Legolas?"

"He was the companion of Lord Aragorn and of Master Gimli the Dwarf."

"He survived the battle unharmed. He and the others have ridden away to do battle. They rode south, I think."

The Elf smiled a little. Then his eyes suddenly glazed over.

"Oh, Lord Elf, do not die!" begged Haleth.

The Elf's eyes came back into focus.

"I am merely going to sleep a bit."

The Elf dozed on and off for the remainder of the day. Whenever he roused himself, he found Haleth at his side, water at the ready. The youth also urged him to take a little bread dipped in broth, or at least to drink some of the broth itself, but the Elf did not yet have the stomach for anything other than 'nen'.

"My name is Haleth," said the youth as the Elf was sipping some water. "You were the leader of the Elves, were you not? You are called 'Hildegar', yes?"

The Elf smiled. "Haldir."

"Haldir," Haleth pronounced carefully. "Lord Haldir, I am glad you survived."

The Elf smiled a little more broadly. "Please, only 'Haldir'. Legolas would twit me without mercy if he heard me addressed as 'Lord Haldir'!"

The next day Haldir felt a little stronger and took both bread and broth. When the healers changed the bandages that covered the wound, Haleth could see that not only was there no sign of infection, but the wound was healing, and rapidly. It was plain that the Elf was going to survive. Haleth was filled with a joy that he had thought he would never again feel after the death of his father. The youth was sure that the Elf was an omen that no matter how grievous its wounds, Rohan would revive and its land and its people would be restored.

In a few more days, to the amazement of the healers, Haldir was up and about. He insisted on walking upon the battlements, gazing ever to the southeast, toward Gondor, and beyond that, to Mordor. A darkness hovered over those lands, and the Elf was seized with great restlessness. Haleth began to fret over how he would manage to keep Haldir from precipitously abandoning the Keep in order to rejoin his friends.

"How fares the Elf?" asked Éothain's mother one night as Haleth joined her family for supper.

"He mends rapidly, but I fear lest he will insist upon leaving before he is altogether healed of his wounds. He speaks often of his kinsman who accompanies Lord Aragorn. He declares that he does not want to leave him to the tender mercies of the Dwarf. He smiles when he speaks so, as if he were in jest, but I do believe that he feels great love for his kinsman—aye, and for Lord Aragorn, as well—and would depart this place if he could and follow after them."

Éothain's mother considered. "No doubt you are right that the Elf would depart this place before he is fully healed. But you must delay him as much as possible so that he is the less likely to do himself an injury."

"But, Aunt, how am I to delay him?" asked Haleth, perplexed.

"Mama says that idle hands make mischief," Freda piped up. "You must make sure that he is not idle. Give him chores. He could do some of mine," she added helpfully.

"Freda," scolded Éothain, "you cannot assign chores to a warrior! 'Twould be most disrespectful!"

"No, not chores," said Haleth thoughtfully. "Aunt, I am in charge of the welfare of the folk. That means I must keep our people safe from attack. But only boys and old Men remain at Helm's Deep, and most have been trained with neither sword nor bow. I am going to ask Haldir to train them in warcraft!"

Éothain's mother beamed at the excited youth. "Aye, Haleth. You have hit upon a way to kill two birds with one stone. The fortress will be more secure, and the Elf will have a task that will keep his mind—and his body!—from straying."

The excited young Man at once went in search of Haldir. He found the Elf upon the Deeping Wall, gazing wistfully upon the plain.

"Lord Haldir, you have already done much for my folk, and I hesitate to ask you to do more." The young Man paused.

"Go on," Haldir said encouragingly.

"My Lord, my folk have been repairing the Deeping Wall, but it takes more than stones to defend a fortress: it takes warriors—and, well, you are the only warrior hereabouts!"

The Elf's mouth quirked. "I am honored by your faith in me, but I hardly think one Elf—and an injured one at that—could hold off an army of Orcs."

"You would hold off the first ninety-nine," Haleth said slyly, "but I suppose after that you might be a little weary."

Haldir laughed, a deep laugh, a sound new to Haleth, for the Elf had hitherto done little more than smile upon occasion. "And what do you propose to do about the hundredth Orc and his fellows, Haleth?"

"My Lord, only old Men and boys remain at Helm's Deep, and the most of them farmers and farriers. But even a farmer or farrier could learn to wield weapons if only he had the right master."

"And have you found the 'right master', Haleth?"

"You, my Lord. If you are not too weary, of course."

Haleth smiled. "I suppose if I have the wherewithal to hold off ninety-nine Orcs then I could spare the strength to train your folk."

"Thank you, my Lord!"

Still smiling, Haleth turned and accompanied the youth toward the Keep. But just before they entered the Great Hall, the Elf glanced one last time over his shoulder, his gaze lingering upon the horizon.


	29. Chapter 29: The Ring of Isengard

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers: **_**Starlight9, Mirwen Sunrider, Krissy Wonder, Apsenniel, Joee1, windwraith, Telcontar Rulz, Opalkitty, LovewithWars, Elfinabottle, Lioness Queen, CAH, **_**and **_**The Inebriated Lion-Minion**_**. A special shout out to **_**Starlight9**_**, who reviewed all twenty-eight of the previous chapter within the space of a few days! I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Lord of the Rings.**_

**Beta Reader: **_**Dragonfly**_

**Chapter 29: The Ring of Isengard**

"Gimli!" exclaimed Legolas, inhaling sharply.

"Sorry, lad," apologized Gimli, loosening his grip around the Elf's waist.

Legolas exhaled. "I come through the Battle for Helm's Deep without so much as a scratch," the Elf complained, "but now I am sure that I shall have such bruises around my middle as shall make it look as if I have been hugged by an Orc!"

"It's this wood," explained Gimli, looking fearfully at the trees that loomed on either side of them as they rode. "Puts me in mind of Fangorn, and you know I didn't like that drasty place."

"You have never met a forest you liked, Gimli," Legolas said accusingly.

"And you have never met a forest you _didn't_ like," shot back Gimli.

As the squabbling friends rode on, they saw an Uruk crossbow abandoned in a tangle of roots at the foot of a tree. After they had passed it by, they heard the sound of something being dragged. This noise was followed by a crunching sound. Next there was silence for a minute, and then a belch.

"Was that you, Gimli?" Legolas said in a soft voice.

"No, it warn't," replied Gimli, equally subdued.

Legolas twisted in his saddle and looked back. The crossbow was gone. Legolas looked about him, keenly aware that seated behind him was a Dwarf who alone amongst the company bore an axe. "Gimli," he whispered, "whatever you do, do _not_ brandish your axe."

Gimli tightened his hold on his friend until he was clinging to the Elf with as fierce a grip as formerly. "I assure you," the Dwarf whispered back, "that I will not! Used that axe to slay forty-three Uruks," he added, raising his voice a little and looking about hopefully.

As if in reply, a soughing sound passed through the forest, and the trees, which had seemed to stoop threateningly over the riders, straightened up and allowed their limbs to stretch toward the sunlight. In response, Gimli relaxed his grip somewhat, and Legolas, who had been trying not to yelp, breathed a sigh of relief. The Elf twisted to face forward again and saw Gandalf looking back at him, grinning. The wizard gave a wink and then turned to resume a conversation with Théoden and Aragorn.

At length the small party reached the end of the forest and came out onto the plain. Legolas looked back at the forest and gave a shout of delight. Three Ents, tree shepherds, had emerged from the mysterious wood. He reined his horse about and began to gallop back toward the trees. "No! no! no!" squealed Gimli, digging his fingers into the Elf's side, but Legolas ignored him. As the Elf spurred his horse onward, he realized that all the trees, and not just the forest shepherds, had eyes, and he was determined to plumb this mystery. Only when Gandalf called out to him did he reluctantly pull up his mount. "Stay, Legolas Greenleaf," the wizard called. "Do not go back into the wood—not yet! Now is not your time."

Regretfully, Legolas rode back toward the column, Gimli grumbling all the while. "Durned Elf," the Dwarf muttered. "Won't enter a nice comfy cavern but wants to gallivant about a drasty, nasty forest—and no ordinary drasty, nasty forest, neither, but one what lies in wait to gobble up unwary travelers!"

"It lies in wait for Orcs and Uruks," corrected Legolas. "It has no quarrel with _you_—unless you should be so foolish as to take axe to living wood!"

"I never did and never shall," swore Gimli. "Anyhow, why would I want to go and do that? Dry wood burns better'n green!"

"Then you have nothing to fear, Gimli. In fact," Legolas grinned suddenly, "since you are certain that the trees can have nothing against you, no doubt you will not object to a pleasure jaunt through Fangorn Forest once we have won this war."

In response, Gimli dug his fingers once more into Legolas's already sore sides, causing the Elf to yelp so loudly that Aragorn turned about to stare quizzically at the duo. Gimli, craning his head to peer past the Elf, smiled innocently at the Ranger. With a quirk of the lips and a shake of his head, Aragorn faced forward once more.

"Legolas," Gimli said after a few moments had passed, "if I agree to journey through Fangorn, then you must agree to explore the caves beneath Helm's Deep."

Legolas shuddered. Mention the word 'cave' to him and he thought at once of Moria, the scene of the single most horrifying moment of the Elf's life. Gandalf had been returned to them, but that fact would never erase the memory of the instant when the Maia had slipped from the broken span of the Bridge of Khazad-dûm and plunged into the abyss. Gimli felt the Elf shudder and gave him a gentle squeeze. "Now, lad," he said softly, "not all caves are to be feared. An airy, well-lit one, filled with feasting folk, why it is no more fearsome a place than the Golden Wood of Lothlórien—for it is not true that I _never_ met a forest I liked."

"I think," said Legolas dryly, "that it was not the forest that pleased you but the inhabitants therein—or a certain inhabitant, anyway."

Gimli laughed. "True! True! The Lady Galadriel would make even the forest back yonder a delightsome place, for her smile would banish all evil. And now," the Dwarf added slyly, "since you and I are agreed that a pleasant companion may make even the unpalatable tolerable, I ask you again: Will you accompany me to the caves at Helm's Deep if I go with you to Fangorn?"

Gimli having put the case so, Legolas was forced to concede. "Very well, Gimli," he sighed, "but I go on account of the companion and not the cave!"

"I never thought otherwise, lad."

"Well, if that is understood, then."

"Of course!"

The two rode on, with Gimli silently chortling to himself at having won a concession from the Elf. As for Legolas, he was reflecting with a mixture of ruefulness and amusement upon the fact that he had just declared that his affection for a Dwarf outweighed his abhorrence of caves. 'My father is going to be very surprised and, I fear, a little distressed, when he learns of my friendship with Gimli', the Elf thought to himself. 'Actually', he mused, 'my father may be more than a _little_ distressed. I shall have to take great care in introducing Gimli to my father'.

For a short while Legolas was diverted by these thoughts. His mind was free to wander, for now that they were past the forest, Gimli had ceased clutching the Elf so tightly that the Elf was in continual danger of being pulled from his horse. Unfortunately, however, a wandering mind is by definition one that is not under the control of its owner. Gimli had brought up the subject of caves, which had put Legolas in mind of Khazad-dûm. That in turn had reminded the Elf of the horror of Gandalf's fall, and from there it was but a short step to thoughts of Haldir. Legolas smiled a little as he remembered how he had first encountered the Lothlórien Elf. They had both been elflings, although Haldir was the older of the two. Haldir had been in training as a border guard, and even then the Lórien Elf had taken himself _very_ seriously. When Legolas, fleeing Mirkwood, had tried to cross into Lothlórien, Haldir had drawn his bow on him. Legolas had just as quickly drawn and nocked an arrow of his own. At an impasse, the two had stood that way for a time, neither willing to stand down. But they also had this in common: that neither desired to do an injury to the other. Thus they had at length hit upon the device of standing down simultaneously, and so their friendship had begun. 'And now it has ended', thought Legolas, the smile fading from his face. He craned his neck and looked back. Far, far away he could make out dark specks in the air. 'Crows', he thought unhappily. 'Crows circling above the battlefield in search of an easy meal. And at nightfall the wolves will come out from where they lurk'.

Legolas knew that the Men of Rohan would not leave the bodies of their allies to be desecrated by bird or beast, but his mind became filled with the thought of death and he was overwhelmed by both grief and shame: grief at the loss of his friend, shame that he had been able neither to defend him nor to afford him the honor of elven burial rites.

Clinging to the Elf's waist, Gimli sensed his friend's change in mood, and as he had when Aragorn had fallen from the cliff, he from time to time gently squeezed Legolas about the middle. Éomer, who had been riding directly behind them, also noticed that the Elf was troubled, for Legolas, who normally sat so erect, began to slump in his saddle. The Man urged his horse alongside Legolas's and looked at him anxiously.

"Are you injured, Legolas?"

Legolas mutely shook his head.

"If he were," grumbled Gimli, "he wouldn't admit it. Stubborn, that's what he is! As stiff necked as a rock-Troll!"

"'Tis sometimes good to be stubborn," Éomer observed, "for loyalty is a species of stubbornness. Do you not agree, Master Dwarf?"

In Gimli's mind arose an image: Legolas swiftly drawing an arrow and aiming it at Éomer on the day that the Rider had angrily threatened to behead the Dwarf. He smirked at Éomer. "Oh, yes, Master Éomer," the Nauga chortled, "and you and I both know that Legolas is loyal to a fault!"

Éomer returned the Gimli's grin, for he divined what the Dwarf was thinking. "Aye, Gimli, that is true: upon occasion Legolas has been so loyal as to lose his head—although you did not lose yours!"

The two chuckled, and Éomer, looking sideways, was pleased to see a slight smile upon the face of Legolas.

They rode on, and nearer and nearer they drew to Fangorn Forest. Legolas' grief subsided a little further as they rode beneath its first bough and the sunlight turned a dappled green. Then, too, he had another path down which to send his thoughts, and it was not the path of sorrow but of wrath. They trod the road to Isengard, the lair of Saruman, who must bear the blame for the death of Háma and Haldir and of so many other brave Men and Elves. The nearer they drew to Orthanc, the more mindful Legolas was of this fact, and his sorrow was overtaken by his desire to see judgment meted out to the traitor who had been the cause of so much suffering. Unconsciously, he urged on his horse until he rode beside Gandalf, and eagerly he looked into the face of his mentor. To his surprise, Gandalf's face was serene, unlined by either wrath or fear. The wizard glanced sideways and smiled.

"Pleasant jaunt, is it not, my lad."

"Jaunt?"

"Riding at a gentle pace on a fine sunny day. Yes, I would call it a jaunt."

"Gandalf, we ride to Isengard!"

"True. We return to the scene of my captivity."

'Ah', thought Legolas, relieved, 'so Gandalf has not forgotten. He will want to exact vengeance for his ill-treatment at the hands of his erstwhile friend'.

"Of course," Gandalf resumed, "if I am not mistaken the captor will have become the captive. Lucky for us, too, as we shall be relieved of the bother of having to attend to him."

Legolas stared at Gandalf, confused.

"For shame," the wizard reproved him. "What would Erestor say if he saw you with your mouth hanging open? You do not in the least look like the elegant Prince we all know you to be."

Legolas hastily clapped his mouth shut, but only for a moment, for he soon opened it again to pepper Gandalf with questions.

"Are you going to let Saruman escape, then?"

"Escape? I have told you that he is a captive."

"I mean escape justice, Gandalf. You can't possibly mean to allow him to escape justice!"

"I doubt Saruman will escape justice. I expect his end will be a fitting one."

"But you said that we wouldn't attend to him!"

"And must _we _attend to him for his end to be fitting?"

"But who else might mete out justice to such a one as he?"

"Oh, justice may be meted out by the unlikeliest of creatures. My boy, do not trouble yourself over the fate of Saruman. I am sure Saruman himself will see that he gets what he deserves. He will have help from his friends, too."

Legolas stared at the wizard, his mouth agape once more until Gandalf frowned and shook his head at him. Then the young Elf once again clapped his mouth shut, this time riding in silence, brooding, until his bemused reflections were interrupted by a most unexpected sound.

"Welcome, my lords, to Isengard!" cried a voice joyful and high-pitched. Legolas raised his eyes and gazed, astonished, upon two small figures seated upon a pile of tumbled rocks. Suddenly the Elf recognized that they had reined up before the remnants of the great ring of Isengard. The wall that had once seemed an impregnable defense had somehow been overthrown, and Merry, who had hailed them, was picnicking in the ruins with Pippin at his side. Behind Legolas, Gimli scowled at the Halflings. "You young rascals," he complained. "A merry hunt you've led us on, and now we find you feasting and—and—smoking!

Pippin grinned impishly. "We are sitting on a field of victory enjoying a few well earned comforts."

Gimli harrumphed. "Well earned! I doubt that!"

Pippin chewed at a sandwich and smirked. "The salted pork is particularly good," he mouthed around its edges.

Much of the ire vanished from Gimli's voice. "Salted pork?" he said eagerly.

"Salted pork," repeated Pippin. He held up a slab of said delicacy. Gimli's eyes widened, and he licked his lips.  
Gandalf shook his head at the scene. "Hobbits!" he scolded, but Legolas heard the affection behind the wizard's bluff tone. For a little while, there by the ruined walls of Isengard, the members of the Fellowship allowed themselves to laugh and chaff one another. In the end, however, Gandalf called them back to order. Merry had told him that Treebeard had taken over management of Isengard, and the wizard said that it was needful that they should speak to the tree shepherd. Pippin climbed up behind Aragorn, and Merry behind Éomer, and they urged their horses into the gray and oily water in which bobbed the flotsam and jetsam of a fallen kingdom. Slowly they pushed through a lake that had seemingly appeared overnight.

"Whence came this water?" marveled Legolas.

"The Ents," Merry told him. "Saruman had dammed the waters of the Isen. The Ents tore the dam apart as a tree root tears apart rock. The water poured into ring of Isen, and the Ents blocked its outflow."

Gimli was impressed.

"They are fair stone masons, for all they are trees!"

By now they had reached the base of Orthanc, where they were hailed by the most venerable of the Ents.

"Hoooom, young master Gandalf," boomed the tree herder. "I'm glad you've come. Wood and water, stock and stone I can master, but locked in that tower is a wizard that 'twill take another wizard to manage, I deem."

The Fellowship and the Men of Rohan craned their necks and gazed up at the tower of Orthanc. "Show yourself, Saruman," Gandalf commanded.

At first all was silent save for the lapping of water at the base of the tower. Then a mellifluous voice was heard. The company looked about for the sound and saw that Saruman had come out onto a balcony several yards above their heads.

"Be careful," warned Gandalf. "Even in defeat, Saruman is dangerous. He no longer has slaves at his command, but his voice has lost none of its power, and it will bind the unwary as mercilessly as any chain."

Legolas knew Gandalf's words to be true, and his thoughts turned to one of those times when he himself had nearly been enthralled by the power of Saruman's words.

_The Istar began to talk of the beauty and power of Isengard. The wizard had a mellifluous voice that seemed to surround and caress the elfling. An older elf would not have been susceptible to its spell; Laiqua, however, was soon entranced. He was no longer conscious of the meaning of the wizard's words but somehow understood that they spoke of safety and the end of painful struggle. But then, even as Laiqua was drawn in by power of the Istar's voice, another voice commanded Laiqua's attention. Softly but insistently, Laiqua seemed to hear Galadriel murmur, __"Go to Imladris, O Nameless One. Go to Imladris. The Lord of Rivendell has ever been the protector of the young."_

"Legolas?"

The voice that broke through the Elf's reverie was a gruff one, but Legolas was glad of it. "Be you well, Legolas?"

"I am well, Gimli."

"You were muttering something," said the Dwarf.

"I do not mutter," Legolas replied huffily.

"Hush," hissed Aragorn, and the two friends fell silent. Saruman was addressing Gandalf, trying to persuade him to enter Orthanc and ally himself once more with the Istar of Isengard. So enchanting was Saruman's voice that all who heard it briefly feared that Gandalf would yield to the wizard's suasions and abandon them. But Gandalf broke the spell by laughing at the wizard and reminding him that he had once been Gandalf's jailer. The escaped prisoner would not willingly reenter his cell. Behind Legolas, Gimli shifted impatiently. "Well, then," he growled. "Let's just have his head and be done with it."

Gandulf shook his own head. He would pursue the possibility, however slight, that Saruman could be redeemed. Saruman was of his order, and Gandalf believed that upon a time the Lord of Isengard had truly been a friend to the other wizard. Moreover, there was always the chance that Saruman could be persuaded to be of service. Even if Saruman were motivated by his own self-interest, his aid would be invaluable, for he must have some inkling of the Dark Lord's intentions.

It soon became clear, however, that Saruman had not abandoned his desire to divide and thus rule his enemies. Having failed to win over Gandalf, he turned his attention to Théoden

"You have fought many wars and slain many men Théoden King," he was saying with kindly sagacity, "and made peace afterwards. Can we not take counsel together as we once did, my old friend? Can we not have peace, you and I?

The Men of Rohan were an unrefined folk, and perhaps that fact now stood them in good stead. In the end, Théoden was not to be won over by honeyed words. At first it seemed as if Saruman's blandishments had deprived Théoden of the power of speech, but with an effort he recovered the mastery of his tongue.

"We shall have peace," he began as if agreeing with the wizard who peered down greedily like a carrion crow anticipating a feast. "We shall have peace," he continued, speaking more loudly, "when you answer for the burning of the Westfold and the children that lie dead there! We shall have peace when the lives of the soldiers whose bodies were hewn even as they lay dead against the gates of the Hornburg are avenged! When you hang from a gibbet for the sport of your own crows, we shall have peace!

Now it was Saruman who lost the mastery of his tongue, for the words that burst forth from his lips were not governed by his usual cold calculation. "Gibbets and crows!" he snarled, heedless of how he was revealing the truth of his rotted interior. "Dotard! What is the house of Rohan but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek and their brats roll on the floor with the dogs? The victory at Helms Deep does not belong to _you_, Théoden Horse Master. You are a lesser son of greater sires!"

Legolas saw Théoden tighten his jaw, and the Men behind him murmured in anger. Legolas glanced swiftly at Éomer and saw that his hand clutched his sword so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. He caught the Man's eye and shook his head. Éomer grimaced, but then he nodded and eased his grip on his sword.

By now Saruman had dismissed Théoden from his mind and had once again turned his attention to Gandalf. "What do you do you want, Gandalf Grayhame?" he demanded accusingly. "Let me guess. The key of Orthanc? Or perhaps the keys of Barad Dûr itself? Along with the crowns of the seven Kings and the rods of the Five Wizards!"

Gandalf ignored the accusations. "Your treachery has already cost many lives," he said gravely. "Thousands more are now at risk. But you could save them, Saruman. You were deep in the enemy's counsel."Saruman mocked the appeal of his erstwhile friend. "So you have come here for information," he sneered. "I have some for you. Something festers in the heart of Middle Earth. Something that you have failed to see. But the Great Eye has seen it! Even now he presses his advantage. His attack will come soon."  
Gandalf urged his horse forward, hoping that Saruman in his fury would let slip something that might be of use to the cause of Men.

"You are all going to die!" Saruman raged on. Then, in his malevolence, he lowered his voice, as if speaking confidentially to Gandalf. "But you know this don't you, Gandalf? You cannot think that this Ranger will ever sit upon the throne of Gondor. This exile, crept from the shadows, will never be crowned King.

Legolas glanced swiftly at Aragorn. The Ranger's face was stolid, his thoughts hidden.

Saruman raised his voice, addressing the entire company.

"Gandalf does not hesitate to sacrifice those who are closest to him, those he professes to love! Tell me," he taunted, turning once more to Gandalf, "what words of comfort did you give the Halfling before you sent him to his doom? The path that you have set him on can only lead to death."

For a moment, a look of anguish crossed Gandalf's face, and suddenly Legolas understood what it had cost Mithrandir to send those whom he loved on a quest so perilous

At Legolas' back, Gimli spoke. "I've heard enough! Shoot him! Stick an arrow in his gob!" growled the Dwarf.

"No!" exclaimed Gandalf. He would make one more attempt, if not for Saruman's sake then for the sake of Men. "Come down, Saruman, and your life will be spared!"

"Save your pity and your mercy," sneered Saruman. "I have no use for it!"

"Saruman!" implored Gandalf. "You were deep in the enemy's counsel. Tell us what you know!"

Saruman seemed to consider. "You withdraw your guard and I will tell you where your doom will be decided."

Eager to believe that Saruman was willing to negotiate, Gandalf lowered his guard and urged his horse forward a little more. Saruman was ready. As the horrified company watched, a firebolt shot from the end of Saruman's staff and enveloped Gandalf.

Legolas' heart lurched as his friend and mentor vanished in a fireball, but within seconds the flames had vanished like wisps of mist in the face of the rising sun, and from the dwindling tendrils Gandalf emerged unscathed. Not one hair of his beard had been singed, and he sat grim and erect upon his horse. His face was resolute. There would be no further negotiations.

Saruman looked stunned. For once he had lost the power of speech.

"Saruman," Gandalf intoned, "your staff is broken."

Before the awed eyes of the company, the Istar's staff shattered. Saruman flinched in shock. His hand flew open, and a tiny fragment of his staff fell from his hand and fluttered to the ground like a shriveled autumn leaf.

As Gandalf and Saruman faced one another in this final confrontation, Legolas noticed a slight movement behind the latter. Gríma Wormtongue stood in the shadow of the disgraced wizard. The Man raised his hand, and Legolas saw that he held a dagger. The Elf swiftly reached for an arrow, but when he had nocked it, he was unsure whether to shoot the Istar or the Man who now menaced him.

As Legolas' fingers twitched upon his bow, Gandalf glanced toward him. "No, my son," the wizard said softly. "Saruman's tale is not yet at an end. But do not fear! Remember! His fate will not be of your devising, but it will be a fitting one nonetheless."

Slowly, Legolas released the tension of his bowstring. Gríma, after hesitating for several seconds, lowered his knife and slipped back inside the tower. Saruman had never seen him, for his eyes had been riveted upon Gandalf, who had supplanted him as the White Wizard. The breath seemed to go out of the former Lord of Isengard, and his body slumped. Turning and groping like a blind man, he crept back into his erstwhile fortress. As he did so, an object came flying from a window. It fell into the water very near the company, and Pippin scrambled down from Aragorn's horse and laid hold of it. As the Hobbit clutched the object and stared greedily at it, Legolas saw that it was a glossy globe of indeterminate color, neither red nor black but shifting between the two. He had no opportunity to see more, for Gandalf quickly claimed it. "Peregrin Took," he called sharply. "I'll take that, my lad! Quickly now!"

Reluctantly, Pippin handed up the object, and Gandalf swiftly hid it within the folds of his robe, giving Pippin a sharp look as he did so. The young Hobbit hung his head, but when he raised it again, Legolas saw that he shot a quick glance, full of longing and resentment, in the wake of the wizard.


	30. Chapter 30: He Is Alive

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers: **_**Starlight9, Mirwen Sunrider, Telcontar Rulz, CAH, **_**and **_**The Inebriated Lion-Minion**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Lord of the Rings.**_

**Beta Reader: ****No beta reader this time, as**_** Dragonfly **_**is not feeling well at all.**_** Dragonfly**_**, I hope you feel better soon!**

**Chapter 30: He Is Alive **

The company did not straightaway depart Isengard after Gandalf's confrontation with Saruman, for the wizard wished to take his leave of Treebeard. For once, the long-lived tree shepherd waxed so enthusiastic that he was on the verge of a 'hastiness' that an Ent would typically decry. "The filth of Saruman is washing away," he exulted. "Trees will come back to live here. Young trees. Wild trees."

"I am delighted to hear it," Gandalf replied, "but do have a care, Treebeard. Saruman remains a threat, for he still has his voice, and his honeyed words have been the downfall of folk both wise and powerful."

Treebeard waved a branch dismissively. "He shall not escape the vigilance of the Watchwood that shall ring the Ring. Hooom hoom!" The tree shepherd emitted the entish equivalent of a chuckle at the cleverness of his pun. Gandalf smiled politely, but Legolas heard the wizard muttering as he mounted his horse. "I shall cast a blight upon his leaves if he allows Saruman to escape!"

Legolas urged his horse forward until he was riding alongside the wizard.

"Gandalf, you said Saruman might be left to the judgment of others, yet you seem to think him still a threat. Would not that have been sufficient justification for our seeking his death? Self-defense is permissable, is it not?"

"If someone would harm you, you may defend yourself," Gandalf agreed.

"Then why did we not slay him?" Legolas demanded.

"He may perform some small mischief before the end," Gandalf answered serenely, "but he may do more good. By leaving Saruman alive, we give Sauron something to worry about. Saruman can no longer do Sauron's bidding, but the Dark Lord will not understand that and will fear that Saruman has turned traitor. His counsels will be troubled, and uneasy he may err."

"So you were not altogether motivated by kindness and magnaminity," Legolas observed.

"I never said I was," replied the wizard, with just the trace of a smirk upon his face. "Moreover," Gandalf continued more seriously, "Saruman may do some good even if he evades Treebeard's vigilance—as he likely shall!"

"What good could he do by escaping Isengard?"

"Saruman," Gandalf said thoughtfully, "would not attempt to assail the powerful. He will try to do ill in a mean sort of way, and he shall target those whom he perceives as weak. It would be good for such folk to learn that they can stand up to such as Saruman. We protect the weak, my son, but it may not be altogether desirable that we do so upon every occasion. For how shall they protect themselves once we have departed? To whom shall they look then, if not to themselves? Let Saruman teach them that they may defend themselves, and his poor life will have had some worth."

By the end of this speech, Gandalf had a faraway expression upon his face.

"Have you had a vision, Gandalf?" Legolas asked gently, bringing the wizard back into the present. "Do you speak of some folk in particular?"

The Istar shook himself and his eyes came back into focus. Then he shrugged. "Either I have had a vision or I am talking nonsense—and it is sometimes difficult to tell the difference!" He chuckled, but then suddenly he twisted in his saddle and stared at something behind him. Legolas looked back over his shoulder and saw Pippin turn red and avert his eyes, which had been fixed upon the wizard. "Curious," Gandalf muttered. "I keep catching the lad staring at me."

"We were all awestruck when you cast down Saruman. Perhaps Pippin gazes at you for that reason—out of respect and admiration."

"I do not think it is hero worship," Gandalf replied dryly. But what he thought it was, the wizard would not say.

Once the company was clear of Fangorn Forest, they rode swiftly to Edoras. Éowyn had gone directly there from Helm's Deep, and when Théoden and his companions strode through the doorway of Meduseld, a feast of victory awaited them.

Men, Hobbits, and Dwarf eagerly crowded the benches. Legolas stood against a column, looking on as Éowyn offered the first cup to Théoden. She knelt before him, holding the cup in both hands. Théoden accepted the goblet. "Tonight," he proclaimed, "we remember those who gave their blood to defend this country." He raised high the goblet. "Hail the victorious dead," he toasted.

The Men of Rohan raised their cups in return. "Hail!" they replied in unison.

Looking on, Legolas saw Aragorn hesitate before he sipped from his cup, his face thoughtful. Then he put down his cup and arose. Before he had taken many steps, however, Éowyn approached him. She bore again the goblet from which Théoden had quaffed, and Legolas supposed it was a sign of honor that one should drink from the King's cup. Smiling bashfully, she proffered it to Aragorn. "Westû Aragorn hal," she said softly. _Health be unto you, Aragorn_.

The Ranger accepted the goblet and drank from it. Éowyn smiled gratefully at him, and he looked searchingly at her before walking away. Éowyn stood looking after him, and Théoden came to stand by her. He looked from Aragorn to her, and she blushed and dropped her eyes. Théoden spoke softly to her, his face suffused with tenderness and pride. Legolas winced. Not only did Éowyn love Aragorn, but Théoden approved of her feelings and assumed that Aragorn returned them. How was Aragorn to extract himself from this situation without either disappointing Éowyn or offending Théoden?

While Legolas was watching Théoden and Éowyn, he was being observed in his turn. Éomer jostled Gamling's elbow and gestured with his cup toward the Elf. "Gamling," he said softly, "mark you how our elven friend has been nursing that cup of wine for an hour now. Poor hosts we be, to leave him so ill-provisioned. We must make up for our neglect by keeping him well-supplied with better stuff."

Gamling looked skeptical. "I do not think we should meddle with the Elf. I reckon he wants no more than has been provided him, for he seems sober-minded to a fault."

"E'en so, Gamling," Éomer argued, "I say that _we_ are o'erdue some entertainment."

"What do you have in mind," Gamling answered cautiously. "What game would you have us play?"

"Let us invite our dear, dear guests, Elf and Dwarf, to join us in hoisting a brew—or ten or twenty!"

"I'll warrant," observed Gamling, warming up to the idea a little, "that the Dwarf could match any Rider cup for cup, but that Elf, now!"

Éomer smirked. "Aye, we'll soon have Legolas staggering like a spavined horse. And then we will weave flowers into his hair and put him to bed in the maidens' quarters. There will be a rare hullabaloo in the morning when he is discovered amongst the ladies."

"Nay, Éomer," protested Gamling. "Too dangerous. A brother or a father may take offense if he were discovered in that place. He might end up a eunuch!"

"True," agreed Éomer reluctantly. "Not the maidens' quarters, then. Ah, I have it: the pig-sty!"

"_You_ will end up a eunuch," warned Gamling. "Do not presume too much upon the Elf's friendship!"

"Ah, well," said Éomer lightly. "No matter. Let us get him drunk first and then worry what to do with him after."

Éomer strode over to where Gimli and Legolas now sat side by side, a goblet of wine in Legolas's hand, a mug of ale in Gimli's.

"Legolas," Éomer said, "in the eyes of my Men you have proved yourself a most valiant warrior upon the field of battle. I must tell you, however, that there are some who swear that you would not fare so well in another sort of battle."

"What battle would that be, Éomer?" asked the Elf.

"A contest of cups."

"Cups?" said the Elf, seemingly puzzled. "Do you toss cups into the air and try to hit them with arrows?"

The Dwarf guffawed.

"Lad, you be agéd in the eyes of my people, yet you be an innocent ne'ertheless. Éomer proposes that you match his Men cup for cup."

"But how, Gimli? If the cups be not the targets of archers, are they to be cut through by swordsmen?"

Gimli began to laugh and would not stop until Legolas, vexed, snatched away his mug.

"Give it back, boy," protested Gimli. "I will need it for the contest."

"I will not give it back," said Legolas stubbornly, "until you explain to me this matter."

"'Tis simple, Legolas," said Éomer, keeping his face straight but only barely. "For every cup of beer downed by your opponent, you drink one as well. The last one standing is the winner."

"So it's a drinking game," observed Legolas. It seemed a silly notion, but, then, what was to be expected of Men, the youngest of the Three Kindred? Although Gimli seemed to approve of it as well, he reminded himself. The Elf sighed. As Gimli was his friend, he supposed he ought to gratify him by taking part in the game. It was, after all, only a trivial matter. But beer? Why did it have to be beer? Stifling another sigh, the Elf accepted the mug Éomer proffered him. He sniffed at its contents, decided he'd had worse, and carefully drained his cup. He grimaced. 'Foul stuff', he thought to himself. 'As ever, I wonder if this is what horse piss tastes like. I shouldn't be surprised if it did'. He proffered his empty mug to Éomer, who stood by the tap. The Man shook his head. "Nay, Legolas, you must get another cup."

"Why may I not refill this one?"

"'Tis the count of mugs allows us to tell who the winner is. Place the mug before you on the trestle—and add unto it many more besides!"

Legolas looked over at Gimli and saw that already several empty cups stood before the Dwarf. The Elf shrugged, set the mug down upon the table, and accepted a second cup from the hand of the Rider. "No pauses," warned the Man.

"And no regurgitation!" shouted Gimli. He lifted another mug to his mouth and chugged it, the Rohirrim egging him on with toasts. "Let's drink to Victory! To Victory!" the Men shouted.

Legolas carefully drank his second cup and then a third and a fourth. Not a drop did he spill. As to Gimli, however, a considerable amount of beer seemed to have run off into his beard, giving the lower part of his face a very foamy appearance. Legolas wondered whether he ought to cry foul. 'I drink the entire mug', he thought to himself, 'but I'll warrant that more of the brew ends up in Gimli's beard than in his mouth'. Then the Elf reminded himself that it was only a game. He shrugged and let the matter pass, lifting yet another cup to his lips. Emptying it, he set it carefully upon the table. Before the Elf stood a neat array of empty mugs, the cups lined up in orderly ranks like well-disciplined soldiers. Before the Dwarf, however, lay a jumble of cups, some carelessly stacked one upon the other, others lying on their sides where they had been tossed heedlessly.

Wobbling a little, Gimli seized another cup. Tilting his head back, he tossed it down his throat at one go to the accompaniment of the cheers of the Rohirrim. Fighting the impulse to roll his eyes, Legolas sipped from his mug, and once finished he again carefully set it down. Then he looked askance at Gimli, who from his nether parts had emitted a foul noise accompanied by an equally foul odor. Gimli was not at all embarrassed, however. "Heh heh heh," giggled the Dwarf. "Gimme another 'un." The Nauga seized a cup from an amused Éomer and upended it over his head. Beer streaming down his face, Gimli belched and then laughed uproariously and uttered a nonsensical toast. "Here's ta Dwarfs 'tat go swimmin' wit' little, hairy wimmin," he slurred. Then he belched again. "Heh heh heh!" he chortled, reaching for yet another cup.

Just at that moment, Legolas made an interesting discovery about his hand. He held it up and studied his fingers intently. "I feel something," he exclaimed. "A slight tingling in my fingers. I think it's affecting me!"

Éomer raised his eyebrows and exchanged a pleased look with Gamling. "We shall soon have our unflappable Elf at our mercy," he whispered. "Time to think where we shall bestow him." Gamling nodded, grinning. He was several mugs past the point of suffering any qualms at the prospect of playing a trick upon their elven guest. "'Twould be fitting if he woke up in the cellar," he whispered back. "Let us place him underneath an empty keg, the tap open, and his mouth gaping."

Éomer nodded his agreement, and the two Men watched eagerly as Legolas reached for another cup. Their plans were to be thwarted, however. Gimli, too, had been delighted at the first sign that Legolas was falling victim to the stout brew of the Rohirrim. "Heh heh heh!" Gimli giggled. Wha' did'a say? He cannae hold his liquor!" Then, a huge grin fixed upon his face, the Dwarf's eyes crossed as if he were trying to espy the tip of his nose. Slowly, he toppled over backwards from the bench, landing with a thud upon the floor and lying flat on his back with his legs extending upward.

Legolas glanced over at Éomer and Gamling and raised his own eyebrows. "Game over!" he deadpanned. Then he saluted the two Men with a full mug that he afterward drained at one go. Smirking, he strolled away.

Éomer was crestfallen. "Do you know," he said to Gamling, "I wonder now whether that Elf is as innocent as he seems."

"Aye," agreed Gamling, equally chagrined. "I wonder that, too. He claimed to have no notion of trial by cup, but now I think he dissembled and knew all along what our game was."

Legolas had gone to stand by Aragorn. "Remind me, Estel," he said to his friend, "that when next we meet I must thank Elrohir and Elladan for their tutelage in the more arcane points of court life. It has just now stood me in good stead."

"Indeed," laughed Aragorn, who had been biting back laughter at Éomer's ill-fated attempt at getting the Elf drunk. "I am glad to hear that those hours you three spent in the diligent study of Dorwinion wine have not been wasted. You must mention the matter to Erestor. Perhaps he will consider adding the subject to his curriculum so that in the future young Elves will not be forced to undertake the study without the guidance of their elders."

The Elf and Man stood side by side in the companionable silence shared by those who have been friends for so long that they do not feel the necessity to entertain one another. Merry and Pippin had been amusing their hosts with lively Shire songs, and as Aragorn and Legolas watched indulgently, the two young Hobbits clambered atop a table and commenced skipping up and down the trestle as they launched into a new ditty. "Oh, you can search far and wide," they warbled, "You can drink the whole town dry, But you'll never find a beer so brown, As the one we drink in our hometown."

To the approving cheers of their hosts, the Hobbits began to high-kick in tandem, and mugs and plates went flying. "You can drink your fancy ales, You can drink them by the flagon," they began the second verse. Suddenly Pippin faltered and stared fixedly at someone on the edge of the crowd. Legolas followed his eyes and saw Gandalf staring back intently at the flustered Halfling. "Pippin!" shouted Merry, bewildered at having been abruptly left to his own devices. Pippin's attention snapped back to his comrade, and once again they raised their voice in song. "But the only brew for the brave and true Comes from Green Dragon," they continued to renewed cheers and claps from the crowd.

"Interesting, that," Aragorn muttered. He left Legolas' side and made his way toward Gandalf. When he reached the side of the wizard, Man and Maia fell into earnest conversation. In spite of Pippin's odd behavior, Legolas suspected that it was another Perian who was the subject of their exchange. It had been impossible for the wizard to conceal from those who knew him best that he had been troubled over the fate of Frodo ever since his confrontation with Saruman. That disgraced wizard's barb had hit home, penetrating the one spot that Legolas—and Saruman, too, apparently—knew to be Gandalf's most vulnerable: his heart. Legolas could imagine how the exchange between Aragorn and Gandalf must go. "No news of Frodo?" the Ranger would say, trying to draw Gandalf out on the subject.

"No word. Nothing," the wizard would reply dispiritedly.

"We have time," the Ranger would no doubt reassure him. "Every day Frodo moves closer to Mordor."

"Do we know that?" Gandalf would ask, desiring—yet not daring—to hope.

"What does your heart tell you?" Aragorn would ask encouragingly.

Legolas watched as a small smile slowly smoothed away some of the anxious lines upon the face of the wizard. Almost imperceptibly, the mind of the Sinda began to mirror the mind of the Maia, and now Legolas heard the words of the wizard as if the Elf stood beside him. 'My heart tells me that he is alive," Gandalf was saying.

"Yes," Elf and Istar murmured. "Yes," they declared, their hope born anew. "Yes. Frodo is alive."


	31. Chapter 31: Loyalty and Loss

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**The passage in which Gandalf and Aragorn discuss Boromir is adapted from the conclusion of "An Offer of Friendship."**

**Thanks to the following reviewers: **_**Starlight9, Apsenniel, Mirwen Sunrider, punkballet, windwraith, CAH, **_**and **_**The Inebriated Lion-Minion**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Lord of the Rings.**_

**Beta Reader: **_**Dragonfly. **_**Welcome back, **_**Dragonfly**_

**Chapter 31: Loyalty and Loss **

After the wizard had unburdened himself of his anxiety over Frodo's wellbeing, Gandalf and Aragorn sought out seats in a corner of the hall, on the fringe of the festivities, so that they might discuss at length the events that had occurred since the wizard's fall into the abyss of Moria. Above all, Aragorn desired to tell the Istar the tale of Boromir's final days. When Gandalf and Aragorn had met anew in Fangorn Forest, the Dúnadan had recited only the bare bones of the narrative, partly because they were in haste, but partly also to spare Boromir's memory. Now that the battle for Helm's Deep had concluded, Aragorn deemed that it was time to be more forthcoming.

As Aragorn told the tale to Gandalf, Legolas sat nearby, arising from time to time to check on the welfare of Gimli, who snored on the bench where he had been obligingly carried by no less than six of Éomer's Riders. For all that Gimli was short, he was stout, and the Men had uttered a few good natured curses as they lifted him from where he had lain upon the floor.

"I doubted Boromir at the outset of our quest," Aragorn was admitting as Legolas returned from seeing to his friend. "He seemed over-bold, to the point of recklessness. Nor did he accept counsel willingly. But during our journey, I grew to respect him. He carried a burden little less than Frodo's, and he strove manfully with it. It came near to overcoming him, but in the end he behaved with courage and honor."

"I hope you told him so," said Gandalf. "It would have comforted him at the end."

"I told him he had not failed, that he had won a great victory. I hope that sufficed, for there was no time to say more."

Gandalf nodded approvingly.

"Yes. With the wisdom that approaching death confers, no doubt he had no need for anyone to explain the nature of his victory."

The wizard raised his cup.

"I drink to the honor of Boromir, son of Gondor, who did not flee his fate but embraced it."

Aragorn heard words that seemed to come from far away, a distant echo of an echo.

_Embrace me_.

"I do—I will," he declared with a fervor that caused Gandalf to pause, his cup at his lips. The wizard did not, however, ask Aragorn to explain himself. He had no need of explanations.

'Aragorn will be haunted by many such voices', he thought sadly, 'for it is his fate to lead into battle Men doomed never again to sit by hearth with wife and child. And my fate? It is to see that this will happen and to be helpless in the face of the doom of Men'.

Nearby Legolas perched on his seat uneasily. He was not altogether satisfied with his behavior towards Boromir, for he now understood that he had judged the Man too harshly. His motives had in the main been just, Legolas believed, for he had feared for Aragorn's safety and perceived Boromir as a threat. Nevertheless, the Elf felt shame at his having failed to grasp that Boromir, too, had been in peril.

'Boromir was a member of the Fellowship', Legolas thought somberly. 'I had pledged my loyalty to all, and I thus failed in my duty when I did not seek to help him'.

A hand fell upon the Elf's shoulder, and Legolas looked up. Gandalf smiled kindly but knowingly upon the Elf. "Do not be too hard upon yourself," he said gently. "It was natural of you to feel more protective of Aragorn than of Boromir. You had long been friend of the one and hardly knew the other."

"That is another thing," Legolas confessed. "Had Boromir been friendlier toward Aragorn, I think I would have been just as troubled. I did not want Boromir to be Aragorn's enemy, but I do not think I wanted him to be Aragorn's friend, either."

"Oh ho," chuckled Gandalf. "A little possessive, are we? Jealous, even, I'll warrant."

"I am _not_ jealous," protested Legolas indignantly. "It's not like that."

"Oh?" said Gandalf, pretending not to understand. "And what is the 'that' that it is not like?"

Legolas scowled at the wizard, who in turn grew serious. "I should not have made light of your feelings, Laiqua. Estel is your foster-brother, and of course you would put his welfare above that of all others."

"Was I wrong to do so, Mithrandir?" appealed Legolas, addressing the wizard by the name by which he had known him as an elfling.

Gandalf smiled at being addressed so. 'He is still so young', the wizard thought fondly. 'He will always be young. Some Elves grow grave, but not Legolas, I think'. Aloud he said, "Of course not, Laiqua. You pledged yourself to the Fellowship, true, but long before that you took an oath to protect Isildur's heir. As Estel's sworn-protector, it is your duty to scrutinize anyone who might masquerade as his friend. Oft under the guise of friendship the traitor has crept into the bosom of his victim, as Théoden learned to his grief."

A smile replaced the young Elf's anxious expression. Just then Aragorn appeared bearing a tray upon which sat a bottle of wine and three goblets. He looked back and forth between the Elf and the wizard, both of whom now seemed very merry.

"Perhaps this wine is unnecessary," he said drolly, "as the two of you are already in good spirits."

"Oh no," exclaimed Legolas, seizing a cup. "I need something to take the taste of horse piss out of my mouth."

"You are too fastidious, Legolas," Aragorn mock-scolded him. "There is nothing wrong with the beer of Rohan."

"Nothing except that it _is_ beer," Legolas shot back.

Before Aragorn could answer, Éomer drew near. He addressed the wizard and the Dúnadan. "My uncle would speak with you, Aragorn, Gandalf," he announced. The Rider had nodded genially at Legolas as he spoke, but the Elf's presence had not been requested. Legolas did not feel slighted in the least. It was not his task to give counsel to the King of Rohan, and he was certain that as Prince of Mirkwood he had had to listen to more than his share of endless speechifying. Since he was the companion of Aragorn and Gandalf, he would not be turned away if he followed them to the private chamber where Théoden was now closeted, but he gladly chose to remain where he was.

Gandalf was right, though: Legolas _was_ young. After checking on Gimli's welfare several times, Legolas grew bored. Moreover, the noise and press of bodies began to trouble the Elf. He arose one last time to check on Gimli. After assuring himself that the Dwarf's sleep was a natural and not drugged one, Legolas slipped from the feasting hall. He went into a side chamber from which, he believed, there was a door leading to a terrace that ran the length of Meduseld. As he entered the room, he saw that Éowyn lay sleeping upon a settle in its center. No doubt she was exhausted from having supervised the preparations for the feast. Quietly Legolas skirted the edge of the room as he made for the outside door. As he reached it, he heard a sound and looked back over his shoulder. Éowyn's blanket had slipped from her shoulder, and she murmured as the cold disturbed her sleep. Legolas paused and considered whether he ought to cross the room and cover her again. But before he could stir, Aragorn stepped into the room. The conclave with Théoden having come to an end, Aragorn no doubt intended to find a private spot to mull over what lay ahead.

As Legolas watched from the shadows, Aragorn softly walked to the settle and drew the blanket up to cover Éowyn's shoulders. It was, Legolas knew, a gesture of tenderness not love—at least not of the love that Éowyn desired.

Aragorn turned to slip away, but Éowyn, surfacing from an evil dream, reached out and seized his wrist. As she spoke softly and urgently to the Ranger, Legolas quietly stepped outside. He suspected that the Ranger knew that his friend had been in the darkness by the door, but Éowyn did not, and the Elf did not wish to overhear words intended for Aragorn alone.

Standing upon the terrace, Legolas looked up at the sky. At first he could make out many stars, but slowly clouds crept in from the east, swallowing the starlight as they came. One by one the stars winked out, and Legolas shuddered as if cold. He drew his cloak tightly about him and cast his hood over his head as if the Lórien garment might ward off an approaching threat. The clouds that obscured the sky also cast a shadow upon his spirit, and melancholy drove out the cheerfulness that he had so lately felt. Legolas reminded himself that Gandalf and Aragorn had been restored to them, that the King of Rohan had recovered his strength and his wits, and that the power of Isengard had been broken. Yet this knowledge did not suffice to restore his good humor. Thoughts of Haldir's fate once again oppressed the Elf's mind, and over and beyond his grief at his friend's death, ever and ever more strongly Legolas felt a presentiment of evil.

For a long time Legolas stood upon the terrace, gazing at the sky in hopes that even one star would break through the lowering clouds. Dawn could not be far off, he told himself, trying to rekindle the fire in his breast. At last he felt a familiar presence by his shoulder. Still restless after his conversation with Éowyn, Aragorn had at last wandered out onto the terrace. He had begun to pack his pipe, but then, spying Legolas, he had come to stand by his friend.

Legolas spoke in somber tones. "The stars are veiled," he said softly.

Aragorn nodded thoughtfully.

"Something stirs in the East, a sleepless malice," Legolas continued. He glanced sideways at his friend. "The eye of the enemy is moving." The Elf paused. Suddenly his eyes widened. "He is here!" he exclaimed.

Legolas turned and raced toward the door of Meduseld, and with Aragorn close behind him he burst into the chamber to which the other members of Fellowship had retired. He was astonished at what he saw and momentarily did not know what to do. Pippin, the youngest of the Hobbits, clutched in his hands the globe that Gandalf had been guarding since they had confronted Saruman at Isengard. The Perian's eyes had rolled back into his head, and it seemed more as if the globe possessed him than that he possessed the globe. Merry was frantically calling his name, and when Pippin did not respond, he shouted for the wizard. "Help!" he screamed desperately. "Gandalf, help!"

Legolas saw the wizard sit bolt upright and then, with an exclamation, throw aside the bedclothes and spring to his feet. At the same time, Aragorn rapidly covered the few steps to the convulsing youngster. Seizing the fiery globe, Aragorn wrested it from Pippin's hands. The Halfling collapsed limp upon the floor, and now it was the Man who was possessed by the globe. Grimacing in pain, he could not let go of the device even though it scorched his fingers. Quickly Legolas ran to his side and struck the accursed object, knocking it away from the Ranger. Once free of its devilry, Aragorn went limp as Pippin had, and Legolas seized the Man's shoulders to prevent him from falling upon the flagstones. Meanwhile, the globe rolled toward the door, as if seeking to evade capture. Seizing a cloak, Gandalf pursued it and flung the garment over it. The globe now rendered harmless for the time being, the wizard turned his anxious attention to Pippin, who lay transfixed upon the floor, his eyes open but unseeing. "Fool of a Took!" exclaimed Gandalf, his voice trembling with intermingled fury and fear. Pushing Merry aside, he knelt by the younger Hobbit. With one hand he seized Pippin's, and he placed his other hand upon the Perian's forehead. The wizard closed his eyes and murmured an incantation inaudible to all but Legolas, who tensed. 'How much power can he spare for Pippin without harming himself?' the Elf wondered anxiously. For a time the wizard strove with the evil that possessed the young Hobbit, and at last Pippin jerked and gasped, his eyes coming back into focus. "Look at me," commanded Gandalf, for he knew that the danger was not yet passed. Pippin glanced timidly at the wizard. "Gandalf, forgive me!" he begged before lowering his eyes in shame.

"Look at me!" Gandalf ordered again. "What did you see?" he demanded. The wizard was not trying to be cruel, but he had to know what Pippin had seen—and what may have been seen in return by another, the master of the Seeing Stone, for now Gandalf knew for a certainty that they were in possession of one of the lost Palantiri.

Pippin took a deep breath, and when he spoke his voice quavered.

"A tree, there was a white tree in a courtyard of stone. It was dead."

"Minas Tirith," muttered Gandalf.

"A city was burning," Pippin continued. "It was a grand city, of white stone rising tier upon tier."

"Did the lad see what is or only what may be?" Gandalf said under his breath. "Perhaps our enemy wishes us to quail in the face of an image that cannot come to pass if we stoutly maintain our courage and resolve."

The wizard allowed himself to relax a little, sitting back on his heels and letting some of the tension flow out of his body. But what Pippin said next caused his alarm to return tenfold.

"I-I saw him," stammered the young Perian. "I saw him! I could hear his voice in my head."

Gandalf's eyes widened, for he could not hide his fear. "What did you tell him?" he commanded. "Speak!"

Pippin flinched. "He-he asked me my name."

"I didn't answer!" the Hobbit quickly added. "He hurt me!"

"What did you tell him about Frodo and the Ring?" thundered Gandalf. He did not mean to be cruel, but it was imperative that he learn the truth. If Sauron had learned about Frodo, disastrous results might ensue. The wizard captured Pippin's gaze and would not let the youngster look away. Wide-eyed, the Hobbit answered softly and simply.

"He didn't ask."

Gandalf exhaled and allowed his shoulders to slump, going almost as limp as Aragorn had been. Legolas moved to his side and put his hand on the wizard's shoulder, allowing some of his own strength to flow into Gandalf's body. After a minute, Gandalf sat erect, and then, with Legolas holding his elbow to steady him, he rose to his feet. By now Aragorn, too, had regained his feet, and Théoden and Éomer, summoned by their guards, had entered the room. Gandalf turned to address them all.

"There was no lie in Pippin's eyes," he declared. "A fool but an honest fool he remains." His eyes flicked momentarily sidewise to the Hobbit, who stood abashed, face flushed, eyes lowered. Merry put a comforting hand upon his shoulder.

"He told Sauron nothing of Frodo and the Ring," the wizard continued. "In this we have been strangely fortunate. We have gazed into the mind of the Dark Lord, but he has not peered into ours. Pippin has seen a vision of Minas Tirith under attack. I think we should have heard if Sauron's forces had already besieged the city; thus what Pippin has seen has provided us a glimpse of not what is but what shall be. Sauron's forces do not yet ring the city, but they will do so within the space of weeks, if not days. We must move swiftly."

Legolas saw Aragorn's hand steal to the hilt of his sword. The Elf knew that his friend must ache to ride toward Minas Tirith, to aid in the defense of the city that by right should be his own. Gandalf glanced at the Dúnadan and almost imperceptibly shook his head. Aragorn's hand momentarily tightened upon the hilt, but then he relaxed his grip and removed his hand, allowing it to hang loosely by his side. Legolas knew what an effort of will it must take for Aragorn to remain still now that the moment of crisis was at hand.

"His defeat at Helm's Deep showed our enemy one thing," Gandalf went on. "He knows the Heir of Elendil has come forth. And he knows that Men are not as weak as he supposed. There is courage still. Strength enough, perhaps, to challenge him. Sauron fears this. He will not risk the peoples of Middle Earth uniting under one banner. He will raze Minas Tirith to the ground before he sees a King return to the throne of men."

Gandalf glanced at Théoden as he uttered those last words, and Legolas followed his glance. The King of Rohan stood silent and pale. Legolas wondered what effect the taunting words of Saruman had had upon Théoden, whether to goad him or to daunt him. Suddenly he understood that the words had done both: Théoden knew that to ride to the defense of Gondor would be to ride to his death—but he would ride nonetheless. Gandalf must have seen the same resolve underneath the stoic exterior of the King. After a moment, he nodded slightly, as if satisfied. Speaking more briskly now, he turned his attention back to Pippin.

"This brief glimpse of the Perian will have whetted the appetite of the Dark Lord. The attack on the Fellowship at Parth Galen shows that he knows that the Ring is carried by one who is of Pippin's race. He may even think that it is Pippin himself who possesses the object of his desire. Things are now in motion that cannot be undone. I ride for Minas Tirith at once, and I will take Pippin with me."

Pippin looked blank, but Merry at once grasped the import of the wizard's words and let out a cry. Then it was that the truth began to dawn on his younger companion.

"Me-Merry?" he stammered questioningly.

Gandalf shook his head. "We must ride quickly," he said, firmly but not unkindly. "I can only carry one before me. Merry must remain with the others."

With that the wizard went swiftly to his pallet and gathered up his few belongings while Merry gathered those of Pippin, who stood dazed.

"Merry," he said at last, "we'll see each other soon, won't we?"

Merry didn't answer.

"Merry?" Pippin said again.

"I don't know," Merry said softly. "Here," he said abruptly. "Here is something for the road." He thrust a leather pouch into Pippin's hand. The younger Hobbit looked down at it. "The last of the Longbottom Leaf," he said wonderingly. He blinked, and Legolas knew that he was trying not to cry.

Gandalf had finished his preparations, and calling upon Pippin to hurry he strode from the chamber. Pippin stood still for a moment longer, but Merry jogged his elbow, and the younger Hobbit was at last galvanized into action and pelted from the room. Beside him ran Merry, and after them paced Aragorn, who wished both to farewell Gandalf and to stand Merry company after his companion had departed.

"Poor little blighter," said Gimli after they were gone.

"Which one?" asked Legolas.

"Poor little blighters," amended Gimli. "I reckon," he added thoughtfully, "that _my_ nose should be out of joint were _you_ suddenly seized and carried off."

Behind him, Legolas smiled. 'And _I_ reckon, friend Gimli', he thought to himself, 'that by your lights you have just made an extraordinarily forthright declaration of affection and loyalty—and for an Elf, too!'

And then Legolas went to pack up his own kit, for he knew that they should not remain long at Edoras.


	32. Chapter 32: A Love of Great Price

**I'm posting this chapter, and the following one, without a beta reading and without replying to my reviewers as I usually do, because I have found out that this story has been nominated for an award in the 'Best Work-in-progress' category at The Mellon Chronicles. I wanted to have as much of the story up as I possibly could. However, I promise that I will go back and reply to the reviews that I am skipping over, plus return to having my stories betaed by Dragonfly because I know perfectly well that if I don't all kinds of foolish mistakes will slip in.**

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's. **

**This chapter incorporates quotations from the book and/or movie versions of _The Lord of the Rings._**

**Chapter 32: A Love of Great Price **

Gimli sat on a bale of hay watching as Legolas groomed first Hasufel and then Arod. "What about Brego?" the Dwarf asked when Legolas had finished. Legolas shook his head.

"Aragorn will want to groom Brego," he answered. The Elf knew that the moments Aragorn could steal away to be with Brego provided a necessary respite for the Ranger. After grooming or riding Brego, Aragorn would return to his comrades with resolve renewed. "I take to a tree when I need solace," the Elf said aloud. "Aragorn takes to a horse."

"Pardon?"

"Gimli, where do you go when despair wells up in your heart?"

Gimli blustered. "Despair _don't_ well up in my heart, so I don't go _no_where!"

"Gimli, we are friends," Legolas said simply.

Gimli gave him a long look. "Well, then, lad," he said at last, "I don't need to tell you where I would go if I had my druthers."

"True," said Legolas, putting away the brushes and going to sit by his friend. "You would seek out a cave."

"A cave, yes. We are of the earth, Legolas. The earth is our mother, and I seek her succor when I am troubled."

Legolas had never thought of a cave in this fashion. "So a cave is like a womb, Gimli?"

"Aye, lad. 'Tis like the place from which we are born—and it is therefore an excellent place in which to be reborn. You think of caves as dark and disagreeable. 'Tis true they are dark, but it is a comforting darkness that wraps round you like a quilt, warming and protecting you. I do not fear the dark!"

An entirely new notion occurred to Legolas. "You are like a cave, Gimli."

"Pardon?"

"You comfort me. It is your words that wrap around me like a quilt."

Gimli shoved him off the hay bale. "Don't go getting poetic on me, boy!"

Straw in his hair, Legolas looked up at his friend and laughed. "Gimli," he teased, "one minute you speak with great eloquence; the next you assume a rough manner. _You_ have waxed poetic far too often for you to carry off the charade of the fierce Nauga who disdains the softer emotions."

"Oh, all right," grumbled Gimli. "But don't tell the Ranger!"

"Not a word," promised the Elf, standing up and brushing the dust from his clothes.

"You've got bits of hay in your hair," observed Gimli. "Want me to pull 'em out for you?"

Legolas drew a small comb from his pouch and handed it to Gimli before sitting down once more upon the bale. The Dwarf loosened Legolas' braids and began to carefully comb through the Elf's hair. Just then a shadow fell upon them. The two looked up. There stood Éomer, staring at them with a bemused expression upon his face. Gimli didn't miss a beat. "Dreadful how these Elves do pick up the lice," he said. "Yep, there's another one." He held up a tiny fleck of something between the nail of thumb and forefinger, crushing it. "So, Éomer," he continued, "you were standing next to Legolas last night. You'd best be checkin' your own tresses."

Éomer began to back away. "My-my uncle would have you know that we depart after the morning meal," he stammered.

"We will be ready," promised Gimli. "By the by, Éomer, Aragorn will be riding Brego, and Legolas and I as before will ride together upon Arod. Would you care to ride Hasufel there? Legolas has just groomed him, so the steed could be made ready in the time it takes a flea to bite."

Éomer warily eyed Hasufel as if expecting to see a swarm of vermin issuing forth from the horse's mane. "I think," the Man said carefully, "that on this expedition Hasufel shall serve as packhorse."

Gimli shrugged. "As you see fit, Éomer."

By now Éomer had reached the stable door. With one last incredulous glance at the Dwarf and Elf, the Man vanished. As soon as he was out of sight, Legolas gave Gimli a mighty shove and the Dwarf toppled into the dirt, where he lay laughing helplessly.

"Lice?" spluttered Legolas. "Lice!"

"Well," gasped Gimli between guffaws, "at least you will have plenty of that precious solitude you value so much. No one will venture to sit by you, I'll warrant."

Hair still unbraided, Legolas strode from the stable and past a startled Gamling. "That Elf has nicer hair than some of the maidens hereabouts," muttered the Man. Fortunately the wind blew so hard that Gamling's words were not carried to the ears of the Elf.

"Legolas!" a voice shouted. Scowling, the Elf turned to face Aragorn, who was staring at him curiously. To see Legolas stalking about with unbraided hair blowing in the wind was akin to seeing him parade naked. "Legolas, what—?"

"Leave it, Aragorn," said Legolas, calming himself. "I have had a little disagreement with Gimli, is all."

As he spoke, Legolas realized it really _had_ been only a little disagreement. Gimli, he knew, would go to Éomer and set things right. The Rider would chaff both Legolas and Gimli a little when the Dwarf explained that he had been combing straw bits from the Elf's hair, but then, friends _did_ tease one another. With surprise, Legolas realized that he had fallen into the habit of thinking of Éomer as a friend as well. 'And to think we were at each other's throats only a few weeks back', he laughed to himself. 'Literally!' he added.

"Legolas?"

The Elf had forgotten Aragorn standing there. Legolas grinned at his friend. "I'm sorry, Aragorn. I'd best go and braid my hair. I can't ride with it whipping in my face."

The Elf made for Meduseld, to get out of the wind, and Aragorn smiled thoughtfully as he watched him go. 'I am glad', he said to himself, 'that both Legolas and Gimli accompany me. They seem so dissimilar yet have become such good friends. When I look upon them, I have hope. For why may not all folk join together in friendship as they have joined? Yes', he continued musing, 'such a union may yet come to pass. Surely it will bode well for the future of Arda if it does'.

Thus encouraged, Aragorn continued on to the stables, encountering on the way Gimli. "Aragorn," cried Gimli, "have you seen Éomer? There is something I must explain to him!"

"I believe he has gone to the tomb of his cousin Théodred, to farewell his spirit before we ride off to battle."

"Oh, then I shall wait for him by the gate. There is something I really _must_ tell him before he next encounters Legolas!"

'Ah', thought Aragorn as he watched the Dwarf hurry off. 'So Éomer is mixed up in it somehow. Doesn't surprise me. I should like to see Éomer thrown in with Elladan and Elrohir and the Lórien brothers. Great japes would result, I am sure!' Aragorn suddenly grew somber again. 'The surviving Lórien brothers', he reminded himself sadly. 'Éomer and Haldir would have been great friends, I think, both so brave, both so honorable'.

Entering the stable, Aragorn took up a curry comb and, as Legolas had expected, assuaged his spirits in grooming Brego.

The Elf, meanwhile, had knotted up his hair as before so that it would not trouble him in battle. Then he went out onto the terrace that ran alongside Meduseld. There he found Merry in company with Théoden. The Hobbit was outfitted as if he were a Rohan warrior in miniature, and from the designs upon the breastplate and shield, Legolas guessed that the weaponry had been Théoden's when he had been a child. The Elf watched, amused but also impressed, as Merry suddenly dropped upon one knee and solemnly pledged fealty to Théoden. 'Just as no one should underestimate a Dwarf', thought Legolas, 'so, too, no one should underestimate a Hobbit. Merry may prove to be far from the least of Théoden's warriors!'

Just then the Dwarf who was not to be underestimated hove around the corner. Gimli had waylaid Éomer and explained the joke he had played, and now he was eager to make amends to the Elf. "Legolas!" the Dwarf exclaimed anxiously, and to his delight his friend welcomed him with a warm smile. "You have appeared in the nick of time, Gimli," Legolas grinned, "unless you had been planning to run all the way to the mustering point. Either that or ride a horse all on your own. Perhaps you could ride Hasufel. For some peculiar reason no one seems to want him as a mount!"

The two friends shared a laugh and then returned together to the stable. Legolas led Arod from the stall. With a leap he mounted the horse, and then he gave Gimli a hand as the Dwarf clambered up behind him. Down from the Hall came Théoden, Éomer, and Aragorn, who mounted up as well. Even Merry was horsed. Perhaps 'horsed' was not the right word, though, thought Legolas, for Merry was seated upon a pony. The only one not mounted was Éowyn. Upon the terrace overlooking the stockade Théoden's niece stood in armor, a sword girt by her side. Legolas knew that she had begged to be allowed to join the Riding, and in the stable, saddled and bridled, her horse awaited her. Théoden, however, had bade her remain and see to the welfare of the women and children and the small garrison that would remain to defend them. Now, as Legolas watched, she turned and slowly walked into Meduseld.

With Théoden and Éomer at its head, the column issued forth from Edoras. Aragorn Legolas, and Gimli rode in the vanguard as well, as did Merry. His horse, Stybba, was a stout pony who could keep up well enough on a long trek, although he would not be suitable as a battle charger. But no charge was this. They rode to muster, and even after they arrived at the assembly point it would be several days before they galloped into battle.

It took a long time for the entire column to pass through the gates of the stockade. Legolas twisted about in his saddle and looked back as the last few horses trotted out of Edoras and past a knot of silent onlookers. The very last horse Legolas recognized as Éowyn's. Apparently some Rider had claimed it, as one had claimed Hasufel, who was not after all to be a packhorse. 'Whoever that Rider is', Legolas thought to himself, 'he is very slight. No doubt he is one of the lads pressed into service in place of a warrior fallen at Helm's Deep'. Momentarily the Elf felt sad, but resolutely pushing his somber thoughts aside, the Elf turned forward again and listened as Théoden explained to Aragorn the details of the muster.

"Messengers have traveled to each Riding, and throughout the length and breadth of the Riddermark Men now make their way to the mustering point," Théoden was declaring. "I believe we will be able to put ten thousand warriors into the field."

Aragorn looked thoughtful. Time was when ten thousand would have been an impressive number. But that was before Saruman had sent ten thousand warriors against Helm's Deep. Aragorn knew that Saruman's army would have been but a shadow of the legions of the Dark Lord. If Saruman had had ten thousand at his command, then doubtless the Dark Lord had ten ten thousands at his. What then could Théoden's Riders do against the forces that Sauron would throw against Minas Tirith?

Aragorn's misgivings grew when the company at long last arrived at the mustering point. Many tents stood in the valley, but there was room for many more. As they rode amongst the assembled Men, Théoden took stock of his forces. "Grimbold, how many?" he called as they cantered past a grizzled warrior.

"I bring five hundred men from the Westfold, my Lord," Grimbold shouted back. Another soldier shouted, "We have three hundred more from Fenmarch, Théoden King."

Théoden reined in his horse and craned his neck as he surveyed the field. "Where are the riders from Snowbourn?" he demanded.  
"None have come, my Lord," answered a Rider.

The muster continued on into the evening. As the sun set, Théoden and his entourage rode to the top of a nearby eminence. Dismounting, Aragorn and Théoden stood together looking down upon the army.

"Six thousand spears," Théoden said somberly. "Little more than half of what I had hoped for."

Aragorn, equally somber, shook his head. "Six thousand will not be enough to break the lines of Mordor."

Théoden straightened his back, struggling to hold on to courage and hope. "More will come," he avowed. He turned to walk away.

"Every hour lost hastens Gondor's defeat," Aragorn called after him. "We have until dawn. Then we must ride."

Théoden looked back and nodded his understanding.

Standing nearby, Legolas and Gimli watched the King stride past his guard and enter his tent. Then a horse attracted their attention. The horse was rearing and plunging as a Man tried in vain to control him. A second Rider ran to help the first, but even with two Men it was difficult to calm the stallion. Legolas looked about and realized that all the horses were nervous. Walking cautiously amongst the skittish horses, the Elf and the Dwarf came to Éomer, who was attempting to gentle his own steed.

"The horses are restless, and the men are quiet," Legolas said softly.  
Éomer looked grim. "They grow nervous in the shadow of the mountain," he said, his voice almost inaudible, as if he were anxious not to be overheard by any of the Men. He looked over his shoulder toward a cleft through the rocks through which passed the remains of a road.

"That road there," said Gimli, "where does that lead?"

Legolas thought back to the maps that Erestor had insisted he study. "It is the road to the Dimholt," he declared. "It leads to the door under the mountain."

Éomer nodded somberly. "None who venture there ever return. That mountain is evil." With that, the Rider threw his cloak over the head of his stallion, as one would do when trying to lead a horse from a burning barn. Only then was he able to guide his nervous horse further away from the path to the Dimholt. Legolas, meanwhile, went to Arod, who trembled and sweated. Placing his hands upon the muzzle of the horse, the Elf sang softly in his own tongue until the stallion calmed. Then Legolas likewise led his horse further from the path to the Dimholt, hobbling him on the other side of a great boulder that jutted out from the side of the mountain.

Aragorn, too, had noticed the skittish behavior of the horses, and whatever these creatures sensed, he felt as well. Drawn by an invisible presence, the Ranger cautiously approached the cleft in the rocks and at last stepped foot on to the road leading to the Dimholt. There he hung fire, both desiring and fearing to go further. He squinted hard down the path, to where it turned and vanished behind some rocks. There, before those rocks, almost it seemed as if he could make out a figure, a crowned specter with sword girted at the waist.

"Aragorn!" a voice shouted.

Aragorn jumped and spun about. There stood Gimli, who had had no mind to follow after Legolas as the Elf tended to their horse. "Let's find some food," growled the Dwarf. Like a Hobbit, Gimli was always ready to eat. On another occasion, Aragorn might have seized the opportunity to twit the Dwarf over his never-ending quest for provender. This time, however, the Ranger's mouth was too dry for him to force out the words. His body, though, was damp enough, for he found himself sweating.

Gimli turned and strode toward a campfire. Aragorn looked back over his shoulder. The shadowy figure of a king had vanished. Shakily, Aragorn followed after the Dwarf.

Later that night, as they lay in their tent, Legolas could tell from Aragorn's breathing that the Ranger was not asleep. "Estel," the Elf said softly, "you are troubled." Aragorn sighed. "I cannot sleep because of Gimli's snoring," he grumbled.

Legolas scoffed. "You have never before been troubled by that sound," the Elf pointed out. "Indeed, you usually add to the cacophony. It would seem that you and Gimli think it necessary that you engage in a nightly duet—or perhaps a nightly duel, I should say."

From Aragorn's blanket came the sound of quiet chuckling, and Legolas was pleased to have lifted, however briefly, the weight that Aragorn bore upon his shoulders. All too soon, however, Aragorn reverted to solemnity.

"Legolas," he said softly, "Théoden's Men are brave, but they would not be enough to lift a siege should Sauron choose to throw his legions against Minas Tirith."

Legolas considered. "Gandalf has more than once said," he replied at last, "that oft hope comes unlooked for."

"But from whence, Legolas?" Aragorn cried sotto voce. "From whence?"

Legolas opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, shouts were heard at the perimeter of the camp. Aragorn sprang up, kicking aside his bedroll and drawing his sword. Legolas, however, sat up calmly. "Where are your wits, Aragorn? Those were not cries of fear," he chided his foster brother. Aragorn grimaced, and for a moment an amused Legolas saw in him an infant Estel, who would stick out his tongue when scolded. The moment passed, however, and the two, trailed by a groggy Dwarf, strode briskly toward a watchfire. There three tall figures, cloaked and hooded, stood in conversation with Éomer. Several yards away other tall figures swathed in cloaks sat silently upon horses.

Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli stepped into the light. The hooded figures turned toward them. One stepped forward and cast back his hood.

"Well met, Aragorn," he said.

"Halbarad," Aragorn exclaimed. The two Men clasped one another upon the shoulder. Then the two other figures stepped forward and cast back their hoods. "Mae govannen," they chorused as one.

"Elladan, Elrohir," Aragorn and Legolas chorused back, also as one. Gimli rolled his eyes. "Nice that you all know one another's names," he grumbled. "Now is there some reason we have been hauled out of our bedrolls. They're not all that comfortable, but sleeping in 'em is better than standing out here in the cold."

Only the flicker of their eyes showed that Elladan and Elrohir were amused at the words of the Dwarf. Elrohir addressed Aragorn formally. "I bring word to you from my father," he declaimed. "'The days are short. If thou art in haste, remember the Paths of the Dead'." Elladan seconded his words. "Ada said to us, 'Bid Aragorn remember the words of the Seer, and the Paths of the Dead'."

Legolas glanced swiftly at Aragorn. The Words of the Seer. The Elf knew that while Aragorn had been growing up in Rivendell, his elven guardians had carefully instilled in him every legend, every scrap of lore, that pertained to the Men of Westernesse, and they had not neglected the words uttered by Malbeth the Seer, spoken during the waning days of the northern kingdom. For Malbeth lived during the time of Arvedui, the last king at Fornost.

Elrohir had resumed talking. "The Lord Elrond—aye, and the Lady Galadriel as well—perceive that a great danger shall come upon Minas Tirith from the sea. The Corsairs of Umbar will seize the ports and advance up the River Anduin. The Men of Gondor do not look for danger from that direction. Heed well these words, my brother!"

"I shall consider what you have said," Aragorn replied formally. He turned to Éomer. "I pray you, my friend, that you provide well for my kinsmen."

The Rider inclined his head. "Of course, Lord Aragorn."

Éomer gave orders that the new arrivals be accommodated in as much comfort as could be afforded in a military encampment. Meanwhile, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli returned to their tent. Legolas and Gimli went inside, but Aragorn remained outside. There he stood deep in thought. The Ranger turned over and over in his mind the verses of Malbeth's prophecy.

"A long shadow does in truth lie over the land," he murmured to himself, "a shadow that stretches ever further toward the west. Do we live in those days, then, the time when the Dead will awaken to fulfill the oath that was broken, the oath sworn to Isildur? I am his heir, yes, but many before me have held that title. Am I indeed the one who can safely pass through the Door to summon the oathbreakers to make good their ancient pledge?"

Yet as he thought on this matter, it came to him that, whatever his doubts, he had no choice but to venture on that path. For he had seen something that Legolas and Gimli had not. After Pippin had stolen the palantír from Gandalf, the wizard had entrusted the globe to Aragorn. "It should be kept far from Pippin," Gandalf had said, "lest he once again fall prey to temptation. Moreover, Aragorn, it is yours by right, for this is one of the Seeing Stones that once knitted together the realms of Arnor and Gondor."

Aragorn had done more than keep the palantír safe. He had gone aside and, deeming the time right, had looked into the globe, challenging Sauron's possession of it and striving to wrest control of it from the Dark Lord. Aragorn believed he had succeeded in the main, but in his mind some doubt had remained. Through the palantír the heir to the throne of Gondor had gazed throughout Middle-earth. But had he seen that which Sauron wished to keep hidden—or had the Dark Lord corrupted his vision, as Saruman's had been corrupted? This fear had left him irresolute. But the words of Elladan and Elrohir, the twin sons of Elrond and foster-brothers to the Dúnadan, had put paid to his doubts. For the Mirror of Galadriel remained uncorrupted, he was sure, and Elrond, too, had ways of seeing that the Dark Lord knew not of.

"There is no other way," Aragorn said to himself. "It is the shortest path to the port of Pelargir and the River Anduin, and I _must_ reach that waterway, else the Corsairs shall come upon Minas Tirith from a quarter from whence the soldiers of the city had feared no danger. If the Corsairs draw forces from the defense of the walls that face the Pelennor, then I do not see how the city shall stand."

Aragorn drew his sword from its sheath and gazed thoughtfully upon it. "Andúril, the Flame of the West, forged from the shards of Narsil," he said aloud. "Sauron will not have forgotten the sword of Elendil." He raised the sword aloft until its hard edge, reforged in the smithies of Imladris, glinted in the light from a nearby campfire. The Dúnadan seemed to hear the voice of Elrond as he stood in contemplation of the blade: "The man who rightly wields the power of this sword can summon to him an army more deadly than any that walks this earth."

Aragorn sighted along the length of the sword and then swung it several times above his head. It thrummed as it cut through the air. "Yes," Aragorn declared fiercely, "the blade that was broken shall return to Minas Tirith and from a direction unlooked for. Only the Paths of the Dead will serve my need, for only by them can I reach the city in time. I must to the Dimholt, then."

Thus resolved, Aragorn looked toward the tent wherein Gimli and Legolas supposedly lay resting. "My friends," he murmured, "I have an errand cannot wait. You must remain with Théoden and Éomer. With them you will come safely to the walls of Minas Tirith, where, if the gods will it, we shall be a Fellowship once more." With that, he turned on his heel and strode abruptly away. Within minutes, he had saddled Brego and was leading him from the camp. As he passed the furthest tent, Gimli stepped out from behind it. He wore his helm and carried his axe. "Just where do you think you're off to?" demanded the Dwarf.

Aragorn shook his head. "Not this time," he said regretfully. "This time you must stay, Gimli."

"Hmmmm," muttered Gimli.

Suddenly Legolas stepped out from the shadows, Arod at his shoulder. "Have you learnt nothing of the stubbornness of dwarves?" the Elf smirked.

"You might as well accept it," chortled Gimli triumphantly. "We're going with you, laddie."

Aragorn smiled, his expression a mixture of resignation and relief. His smile was all the more heartfelt when from behind Legolas the hooded riders materialized. Halbarad, Elladan, and Elrohir glanced at Legolas and nodded at him. Aragorn looked back at Legolas, who grinned mischievously. "You have not been sleeping, my friend," Aragorn said dryly.

"Eternal vigilance is the price of friendship with a Ranger," Legolas replied cheerfully. Aragorn snorted and swung himself into his saddle.

And thus it was that the Ranger was followed from the camp of the Rohirrim by a company of thirty of his Dúnedain kinsmen, as well as Elladan and Elrohir, and, of course, Legolas and Gimli, who would no more be parted from Aragorn than they would be parted from each other. As Éowyn had told Aragorn, and as Legolas was later to tell Merry and Pippin, none rode after Aragorn at his command but rather because of the love they bore him. Many were to pay a great price for that love, but willingly they laid down the coin required.


	33. Chapter 33: Two Kings

**I'm posting this chapter, and the previous one, without a beta reading and without replying to my reviewers as I usually do, because I have found out that this story has been nominated for an award in the 'Best Work-in-progress' category at The Mellon Chronicles. I wanted to have as much of the story up as I possibly could. However, I promise that I will go back and reply to the reviews that I am skipping over, plus return to having my stories betaed by Dragonfly because I know perfectly well that if I don't all kinds of foolish mistakes will slip in.**

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's. **

**This chapter incorporates quotations from the book and/or movie versions of _The Lord of the Rings._**

**Part of this chapter is adapted from Chapter 6 of "Blind Fate."**

**Chapter 33: Two Kings**

Led by Aragorn, the company passed through the cleft in the rocks and slowly picked its way along a path that wended between steep cliffs. There was a road, true, but it had not been tended in years—nay, in centuries—and the loose stones rolled under the hooves of the horses. Clutching tightly to Legolas, Gimli looked about with an awe tinged with fear. "What kind of army would linger in such a place?" he wondered aloud in a hushed voice.

"One that is cursed," Legolas replied solemnly. "Long ago the men of the mountains swore an oath to the last King of Gondor to come to his aid, to fight. But when the time came, when Gondor's need was dire, they fled, vanishing into the darkness of the mountain." Hasufel stumbled and Legolas ceased speaking. When Hasufel recovered, the Elf resumed the tale. "And so Isildur cursed them," he said. His voice was little more than a whisper, yet it seemed to reverberate from the walls of the chasm wherein they journeyed. "They were never to rest," Legolas continued, echoing the prophecy of Malbeth, "until they had fulfilled their pledge. Who shall call them from the grey twilight, the forgotten people? The heir of him to whom the oath they swore. From the North shall he come, need shall drive him. He shall pass the door to the Paths of the Dead."

The Paths of the Dead. Gimli shuddered and clutched ever more tightly at Legolas' tunic. He felt as if they were being watched. Uneasily, he twisted all about but saw nothing but the pinnacles of rock that rose on either side.

After a time the road grew too rocky to permit them to safely ride. They dismounted and led the increasingly skittish horses. Narrower and narrower the way became, until at length the path ended before a closed door. Beside the door were inscribed skeletal figures, and above the door was an inscription in an ancient script. Aragorn looked at Legolas. Silently thanking Erestor for those once-detested lessons in the old languages, Legolas read the words aloud. "The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead, and the dead keep it. The way is shut."

Shut, but not altogether impermeable. A cold vapor suddenly rushed out from the mountain, and for a moment Legolas thought he saw a spectral figure, a helmed Man clutching a spear. He held tight to his mount's headstall, for though he knew that the Rohirric horse was stout in spirit, even one of the Mearas of old would have quailed at the chill air, laden with death, that swirled about them. Beside him, Aragorn took a deep breath. "This is the only way," he said softly, more to himself than to Legolas. "This is the only way." Careful to keep a tight grip upon his own horse, he took a step forward and pushed upon the door. Surprisingly, it yielded easily, like a door through which the everyday comings and goings of Man had never ceased.

Leading his stallion, Halbarad came to stand beside his kinsman. Aragorn noticed that his steed, too, pulled back against the reins. Halbarad looked doubtfully at the blackness that opened up before them.

"This is an evil door," he said softly, so that only Aragorn heard, "and my death lies beyond it." He spoke louder then. "I will dare to pass it, but no horse will enter."

Aragorn stroked Brego's muzzle.

"We shall lead them, if necessary covering their heads with our cloaks as if we were guiding them through a burning city. I have told you what I have seen in the palantír, Halbarad. You know that Minas Tirith will fall if we do not make haste. Once we are through the mountain, we will still have a long path before us, before we have any hope of taking ship at Pelargir. If we do not take the horses, then we may as well give over any attempt at aiding Gondor. And then, like the Dead, we shall dwindle and fade into these hills."

Halbarad nodded somberly and ordered Men to bring up the torches. Aragorn held one as he led the column into the mountain, with Halbarad and Elrohir close behind him. One after another the Dúnedain who had ridden south with Halbarad followed these three into the tunnel, speaking soothing words to their skittish horses. Then came Legolas, whose Rohirric horse, Arod, needed more gentling than the elvish horses of the Dúnedain. Bringing up the rear of the column was Elladan, who held aloft another torch.

Not quite the rear of the column, however. Gimli, who had been born and reared in caverns, could not bring himself to follow. "The very warmth of my body is stolen away," he stammered through chattering teeth, and long he stood trembling before the ghastly fissure beyond which lay the dwelling place of the Dead. "Here is a thing unheard of!" he cried in vexation and shame. "An Elf will go underground and a Dwarf dare not!" He groaned. "I will never hear the end of it." With the stubbornness for which his people were famous, he forced his legs into motion and stumbled after the others. "I will not be bested by that Elf," he swore. "No, not when the field of engagement is subterranean!"

But Gimli's rivalry with Legolas, which had elicited many an irritated 'harrumph' from a hapless Gandalf, had in truth by now dwindled to little more than bantering between Dwarf and Elf. This light-hearted competition was a source of entertainment for the two, not a force that could stave off the horror that more and more overcame Gimli with every step he took. He fell further and further behind, for it seemed to him that his legs moved with the slowness with which one flees in a dream, when one's limbs are bound with an invisible spider web that will stretch but in the end not yield.

Elladan's torch was but a speck in the distance, and Gimli was beginning to think despairingly that he would have to shout out to stay the company, when to his relief he realized that his companions had come to a halt. When he came up with them, he saw that the passageway had opened up and they were in a great subterranean hall, like unto the one they had entered at Khazad-dûm, although on a much smaller scale. In its depths, doors led off to side passageways, some open, some closed. Before one of the sealed doors lay a man, and Aragorn gazed down upon him. As Gimli drew near, he saw that this figure was naught but a skeleton clad in armor. He shuddered and scarce understood what Aragorn was saying. The Dwarf caught snatches of it—musings on what may have driven the man to this place—but later he remembered only what Aragorn said at the end, when he raised his voice as if he were declaiming to an unseen host—as indeed he was.

"Keep your hoards and your secrets hidden in the Accursed Years. Speed only we ask. Let us pass, and then come! I summon you to the Stone of Erech!"

No one answered in speech, but a chill breath, the exhalation of the Dead, filled the chamber, and the torches went out and could not be rekindled.

"Legolas," Aragorn said softly.

Without hesitation Legolas found his way to the side of the Ranger. He stood there silently for a few minutes, listening and smelling and feeling. At last he spoke quietly.

"This way."

He began to walk. Behind him came Aragorn, and after him all the Rangers, each soothing his horse. Gimli had no horse to gentle, and that was a pity, for perhaps such a task would have distracted him from his fear, which returned with all its former force. He stumbled to keep up with the others, and often he fell upon his hands and knees. At last he found himself well-nigh crawling upon his hands and knees.

"I am not much better than that Gollum-creature," he thought despairingly. "From what Gandalf told us, he slithered about like a lizard."

Gimli's plight did not go unnoticed. Elladan had realized that Gimli was falling further and further behind, and at last he spoke softly to the Dúnadan ahead of him. Word was swiftly passed to the head of the column, and Aragorn called a halt. Legolas went back.

"Gimli, my friend," he said gently, "I fear that these long-legged Rangers set you too fast a pace. You must be weary."

"You needn't coddle me," growled Gimli. "You and Aragorn set a fast pace across the Plains of Rohan, and I kept up nonetheless." His voice softened. "Yet I thank you, Legolas, for the thought behind your gracious words. You would not shame me. For that, I am grateful."

The Dwarf reached out in the darkness and made a stab at clapping Legolas on the shoulder.

"Ooomph!" gasped Legolas.

"Oh, sorry. Hit you in the belly, did I?"

"Lower!" moaned the Elf.

"No! My aim couldn't be that far off!"

"It was! You are crouched down almost to the ground, and I tower above you!"

"Well," deadpanned Gimli, "your voice was already in the upper registers."

It was probably a good thing that the darkness prevented Gimli from seeing the look on his friend's face, else he may have developed a greater fear of the Elf than of the Dead. But Legolas soon recovered.

"We have reached a passageway that appears to be broad and straight," he told Gimli. "Aragorn can follow it easily enough. If he encounters any checks, he can always call me forward. I will walk with you for a time."

Gimli's heart was gladdened, but he wisely refrained from any further attempt at patting Legolas on the shoulder—or on any other part of his anatomy.

As they walked, Legolas tried to turn Gimli's thoughts from the darkness that surrounded them.

"At Helm's Deep, you began to tell me of a cave not unlike this one," he began cleverly.

Gimli spluttered.

"Not unlike this one! Not unlike _this_ one! My dear, foolish Elf, that cavern had _nothing_ in common with this place!"

"But they are both naught but holes in the ground, is that not so?"

The Elf's pretended innocence left the Dwarf speechless for several minutes. At last he harrumphed and commenced a lengthy and enthusiastic lecture on the comparative merits of cave systems. He went into far greater detail than even Erestor would have at his most interminable, but Legolas feigned interest.

"Now I will tell you why this passage is so straight and wide," Gimli was saying. "This was once a lava tube."

Legolas pretended not to understand.

"A lava tube?"

"Truly you Elves know nothing of the subterranean portion of Middle-earth! You do understand what a volcano is, don't you?"

"Oh, yes," Legolas assured him. "That I know. Mount Orodruin is of course a volcano."

"Good! That will do to start on. Now, within each volcano are chambers of magma—molten rock, that is."

"Molten rock?"

"Yes, rock that is so hot that is has, well, it has _melted_, don't you know!"

"Ah," said Legolas solemnly, "rather like iron in a forge."

"Exactly! Now, from time to time, the amount of magma grows too great for the volcano to contain. Sometimes that state of affairs will result in the most magnificent eruptions! The effluvia of the grandest dragon would look pitiful in the face of the resulting fireworks! On other occasions, however, the magma will escape through tunnels such as this one. The molten rock—we call it lava once it is outside its chamber—flows like a liquid, so it does not block the tube. Eventually, once outside, it cools on the flanks of the mountain or in the valley below. Once the volcano is dead—or at least dormant—it is quite safe to then enter the tunnels that have been left behind. Someone has smoothed out the floor of this passageway so that it is easier to traverse, but its origins clearly lie in the mountain itself and not in the hands of Men."

Legolas' feigned interest had turned into genuine curiosity.

"You know much of the workings of the earth," he said, impressed.

"Indeed I do," agreed Gimli. "But," he added generously, "I am sure you know as much about trees."

Legolas did not doubt him on either count!

Just at that moment, Legolas sensed that Elladan, who still walked before them, had drawn to a halt. Legolas put out an arm and stayed Gimli. Elladan turned and whispered, "We have reached a fork in the tunnel. Aragorn would have you go forward and advise him on the course we should pursue."

"I must leave you, my friend," Legolas said to Gimli. Now it was the Elf's turn to try to clap the Dwarf on the shoulder.

"Hey," the Dwarf spluttered indignantly.

"Surely I did not strike your groin, Gimli!"

"No, higher! You patted me on the head. I am a Dwarf, not a child!"

"Many Orcs could testify to the truth of that," Legolas replied, "if they were but living! And soon many more foes shall have reason to know it, for it seems to me that we have come far along these Paths and shall soon find ourselves once again walking abroad in the land."

"You are sure of that?"

"Yes, for the domain of the Dead, while impressive, is nowhere near as vast and elaborate as the great Dwarf city of Khazad-dûm."

Gimli's heart swelled within him, as Legolas had known it would.

"Well, well," he harrumphed, "these Dead were but Men—one couldn't expect them to delve on the grand scale of Dwarves!"

"True, Gimli, quite true. The Dead were but Men."

Again Legolas reached out toward his friend, and this time he managed to clap the Dwarf on the shoulder. As he did so, he looked backward into the portion of the tunnel they had been traversing. Gimli saw eerie lights reflected in the Elf's eyes. "What is it?" the Dwarf whispered. "What do you see?"  
"I see shapes of men and of horses," replied Legolas.  
"Where?" exclaimed Gimli, spinning about to look behind him.

"Pale banners like shreds of cloud," murmured the Elf. "Spears rise like winter thickets through a shroud of mist. The dead are following. They have been summoned."

Gimli blanched, and Legolas suddenly remembered his companion. "The Dead are but Men," the Elf reiterated firmly. "Men like those who built this place."

"The Dead are but Men," repeated Gimli. Legolas smiled and then vanished further up the tunnel.

"The Dead are but Men," the Dwarf said once more.

It would be a lie to say that the oppression of Gimli's spirits had been entirely lifted by Legolas' efforts, but his fear had lessened greatly, and, resolute, the Dwarf marched on. It is true that periodically he stumbled over flaws in the roadway. Moreover, from time to time a chill breeze would raise the hairs on the back of his neck, as if the phantom Men had drawn near and were breathing down upon him. But each time that happened, he would repeat, "The Dead are but Men." That thought was enough so that the Dwarf was able to continue his stumbling progress. And even the stumbling was by means a bad thing. Every time Gimli was tripped up by a rough patch in the roadway, he would mutter, "Hah! A Dwarf, now, _he_ would have laid the stones more smoothly. These Dead were but Men!"

After proceeding for what seemed a long time in this fashion, Gimli became aware that light was filtering in from somewhere. Almost at once, Legolas rejoined him, for now that Aragorn could see the way, he sent the Elf back to tend to his friend. "We must be near the outlet of this cave, Gimli," he exclaimed, "for, see, it grows light!"

At that moment, the passageway opened and they found themselves in another great space like unto the one where they had discovered the skeleton clothed in armor. On the far side of the great chamber sunlight shone in through an open door.

"Oh, ho!" chortled Gimli. "I never thought I'd be glad to be shut of a cave, but so I am."

But before he or any of the others could stir toward the door, a hollow voice echoed throughout the chamber. "Who enters my domain?" the voice demanded. Between the company and the door materialized the figure of what had been a Man—that is, if a specter can be said to materialize. The Man was garbed like a king, crowned and with a sword girt upon his waist, but underneath the crown was a ghostly skull, and spectral fingers—sometimes bone, sometimes flesh—clutched the sword hilt. "Who enters my domain?" the apparition again demanded.

"One who will have your allegiance," Aragorn flung back.

The King of the Dead—for so it was—sneered his reply. "The dead do not suffer the living to pass."

"You _will_ suffer me!" vowed Aragorn. The Ranger did not quail. He did not fear Death, and such was the Dúnadan's intensity and fervor that at that moment no living Man could have outfaced him. But it was no living Man who interposed himself between Aragorn and the door that would put the company on the path to Gondor. So it was that a menacing laugh was all the reply that the King offered to Aragorn's words, and the company suddenly found itself surrounded by spectral warriors, and the buildings of the city that had housed them. The outlet from the chamber was now blocked.

"The way is shut!" mocked the leader of the dead. "It was made by those who are dead. And the dead keep it."

As the King of the Dead spoke, his spectral army drew ever closer. "The way is shut!" repeated the King. He hefted his sword. "Now you must die!"

In hopes that an elven weapon would have some effect, Legolas swiftly released an arrow. The missile passed straight through the King of Dead. The filmy substance of the spectral being parted as the arrow flew through the ghostly head, but the cavity left in its wake closed upon the instant, leaving the King both untouched and undismayed. Legolas heard his missile clatter upon the flagstones. Its tip was unbloodied.

Aragorn was not troubled by the futility of Legolas' gesture and strode boldly toward the King. "I summon you to fulfill your oath!" he cried.

"None but the King of Gondor may command me!" the King spat back. Advancing upon Aragorn, he brandished his sword, and the vaporous air swirled as he sought to deal a death blow against the Dúnadan. To the shock of the King, Aragorn swiftly raised Andúril and parried the spectral sword. The ghost at once recognized the weapon. "That blade was broken!" he cried in consternation.

"It has been remade," Aragorn coolly retorted. Simultaneously, he seized the King by the throat. Unlike Legolas' arrow, the Ranger's fingers did not pass harmlessly through the specter, who gurgled and gasped. In amazement, the host of the dead froze in its steps. "Fight for us and regain your honor," commanded Aragorn. He released the King and thrust him away from him. "What say you?" he demanded, looking all around at the army of the dead and stalking through its ranks.

Gimli found his courage then. Gripping his axe, he growled an insult at the spectral warriors, one which he hoped would goad them into action, for good or for ill. "Ach! You waste your time, Aragorn. They had no honor in life and they have none now in death."

The host of the dead remained still, making neither gesture nor sound. Aragorn tried again. "I am Isildur's heir. Fight for me, and I will hold your oaths fulfilled." He raised before their hollow eyes the Sword Reforged. "What say you?" he shouted, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice.

The King of the Dead laughed. For a moment, Legolas allowed himself to believe that he laughed in relief, that he felt joy at the thought that within their ghostly grasp lay deliverance from their long doom. But then he knew that he was wrong, that instead the King laughed in mockery of the claims of Isildur's heir. For still laughing, the King began to vanish, dissolving into a mist, and with him all his host. Only their spectral city, abandoned, remained.

"You have my word!" Aragorn beseeched as they dwindled. "Fight, and I will release you from this living death!" The sand at the company's feet swirled as the last traces of the ghostly army melted away. "What say you?" Aragorn cried desperately.

Infuriated at the twice-treachery of those who had once been Men, Gimli bellowed after them. "Stand, you traitors!"

In disbelief, Aragorn stared at the emptiness wherein had stood the Army of the Dead. It had been a test, he knew, and he had failed. But in what way had he failed? Had his courage been lacking? Had his motives been less than just? As he stood in grief and confusion, he heard the sound of rock scraping on rock. He raised his eyes and gazed at the abandoned city. That had been real enough, although they had not been permitted to see it until the King of the Dead had willed it. As he watched, the scraping sound turned into a grinding noise, and a crack appeared in the façade of the largest of the buildings. Pieces of mortar fell from the structure, followed by chips of stone, small ones at first, and then larger. The building let out a groan like unto the sound of a dying Man. With high-pitched shrieks of terror, the horses, even the elven ones, suddenly pulled free of their handlers and stampeded for the door.

"Out!" shouted Aragorn. His self-doubt vanished, replaced by the single-mindedness of the leader who thought of only one thing: the lives of his followers. He stood fast, pushing Rangers onward past him, refusing to retreat toward the door until he saw them through it. "No, Elladan, Elrohir," he exclaimed as the twins tried to stand by him. "Do not waste time arguing. I will not stir until I see my people safe."

The twins knew him well and understood that arguing would be fruitless. Halbarad, too, understood this. The fastest way to get Aragorn out of the cave would be to exit it themselves, and the three therefore sprinted toward the door in the wake of the last of the Dúnedain. As they neared it, with a dreadful cracking noise the front of the building gave way entirely and skulls, thousands of skulls, cascaded toward Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas.

Separated from Legolas and Gimli by only a few feet, and continually glancing over his shoulder to see that they stayed close, Aragorn now made for the door. In short order the trio were wading rather than running, if one might speak so of wallowing through a flood of skulls. Ever higher and higher the skulls mounted. Urging his friends on, Aragorn soon was forced to leap and then crawl atop the ever-growing pile of ivory. Behind him, Legolas seized Gimli and shoved the Dwarf before him. Aragorn glanced back and saw that the Elf was hindmost. "Legolas! Run!" he shouted.

Legolas had once walked lightly upon the snowy crust of Caradhras, but he could not balance atop the shifting skulls that now rolled beneath his feat. Instead, he pushed through the piles of bony globes as Boromir had once forced his way through the drifts of the cruel mountain that for a time had claimed Gandalf. Legolas had a sudden vision of the broad-shouldered Man as he had once used his powerful arms to thrust the snow aside—only now the Man of the South followed directly in Aragorn's path and cleared a channel through drifts of skulls. Mimicking the Man's movements, the Elf all at once found himself pushing through the bones as easily as if he were doing the breaststroke through water. With one last shove, the Elf propelled Gimli out the door and leaped after him, joining Aragorn, who seconds before had made his own way outside. As Legolas escaped over the threshold, Boromir smiled and faded away.

Once outside, Legolas saw that Halbarad and the twins and their companions from the north had regained the horses and quietly awaited the commands of their leader. Before them stood Aragorn, who stared into the valley far below. A tiny ribbon of blue, the River Anduin, threaded its way through the valley. To either side blossomed fields of red and yellow, but these were no flowers such as maidens delight to gather. The settlements in the valley had been set afire—both the buildings and the crops. On the river Legolas could make out the black triangles of the sails that had carried an enemy fleet into the riverine valley. The Easterlings and Haradrim pirates were making their way toward Pelargir, looting and pillaging, killing and burning, as they went. Aragorn and his small company were still miles from the port, and even though they might be able to reach it, riding hard through mountain passes, what could they do against such a large force?

Aragorn sank to his knees, as if both his spirits and his knees had suddenly buckled. Tears of despair filled his eyes. Softly Legolas approached his friend and laid a hand of fellowship upon his shoulder. Aragorn bowed his head, and a tear traced a path through the soot and dirt that smudged his weary face. Suddenly a chill breeze sprang up and a rustling sound was heard, although no bushes grew this high up. Aragorn leaped to his feet and spun about, his shoulders once again erect, his sword hand at the ready. A figure appeared, emerging from the mountain as if the rock were no more substantial than a silk curtain. Face to face, Aragorn stared into the spectral eyes of the King of the Dead. For a long moment, the two Men, one living, the other dead, appraised each other. And then the apparition uttered only two words: "We fight."


	34. Chapter 34: A Place of Carnage

**Read Chapter 32!**

**Read Chapter 32!**

**Read Chapter 32!**

**I posted Chapter 32 at the same time I posted Chapter 33, and judging from the hit count, some people did not realize I had posted two chapters. As a result, they read only the second of the two chapters. So if you skipped Chapter 32, please go back and read it and let me know what you think.**

**I am still posting at an accelerated rate and therefore (1) didn't have this chapter betaed and (2) still haven't replied to my reviewers. I plan to catch up on replying over the Thanksgiving break. However, even though I have not yet replied to reviewers, I would like to acknowledge them. My thanks to the following: **_**Starlight9, Apsenniel, windwraith, Kitty**_** (who just weighed in on Chapter 1—hope you make it this far and see this acknowledgement),**_** CAH, LovewithWars, Mirwen Sunrider, The Inebriated Lion-Minion, **_**and**_**Telcontar Rulz. **_**Hannon le, and my sincere apologies if I have omitted anyone.**

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's. **

**This chapter incorporates quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Lord of the Rings.**_

**Chapter 34: A Place of Carnage**

Gimli twisted about and peered behind him. He saw nothing but the path they had been traveling.

"You are sure they are still behind us, Legolas?"

"Yes, Gimli," Legolas replied patiently. "Cannot you feel them?"

Gimli considered. A chill breeze blew continually upon his neck. "Yes, Legolas, I believe I do. But _you_ can see them, can't you?"

"Yes, Gimli."

"Tell me again what you see."

"An army of wraiths, Gimli. Thousands of specters, armored and helmed, bearing sword and spear, some mounted, some afoot, but all moving at the same speed. At their head their leader, the King of the Dead."

Gimli shuddered. "An army of the dead," he whispered. "Legolas, how are they any different than Ring-wraiths?"

"The Ring-wraiths are possessed by those accursed objects that they accepted from the hand of Sauron. These, though, are ordinary folk. They failed in their duty, true, but out of weakness and not wickedness. Now they are possessed not by the desire for riches or power but by the hope that they can redeem themselves. Were they Ring-wraiths, they would not seek redemption."

"They are not evil, then?"

"No, Gimli, they are not."

"And we need not fear them?"

"I do not think they would harm the allies of Isildur's heir."

"But Aragorn's enemies?"

"His enemies they will slay."

"I do not understand how, Legolas. They haven't got bodies, not truly. How can those who have no bodies slay those who do?"

Legolas considered. "I think," he said slowly, "that the fear of death may itself be death-dealing."

Gimli snorted. "Now I call _that_ ironistical, Legolas."

"Ironic." Legolas automatically corrected. "True," the Elf went on thoughtfully. "It is indeed an irony that he who fears death is the likelier to fall prey to it than he who does not. I think that is what the King of the Dead saw when he looked into Aragorn's eyes—that Aragorn does not fear Death."

"It puts me in mind of a story my folk tell," said Gimli. "There was a trader chaffering silver rings at the market in Esgaroth when he bumped into Death. Now, Death looked hard at the trader, and the trader knew at once that Death had come for him. Says the trader, 'I must away to Moria. Death will not look for me there'. Abandoning his wares, he returned at once to his inn, saddled his horse, and rode without cease until he arrived at Khazad-dûm. As he crossed the threshold into that place, who should he encounter but Death, who at first looked startled but then relieved. 'Oh, ho!' cried Death, 'I saw you at Esgaroth and I was greatly distressed, for I was told to take you at Moria, and I did not see how that would be possible, seeing that you were so far from that place'."

Legolas smiled a little. "So he assured his death by attempting to evade it."

"Aye, lad, so he did."

"Then by that measure Aragorn should be immortal, for he races toward his!" Legolas observed wryly.

The two friends shared a mordant chuckle. Then Gimli shivered hard. "They are all around us," he whispered.

Legolas looked to either side. "Aye, they are eager to fulfill their ancient oath."

On they rode. Hours earlier, they had come to the Stone of Erech, where Aragorn had again faced the King of the Dead, this time to accept his formal pledge to fulfill the oath that had been made and broken in the days of Isildur. Then they had resumed their race to Pelargir.

"The port is no doubt in the hands of the raiders," Aragorn had said to Legolas and Gimli. "With the aid of our new allies, we will seize it and take ship. We will scour the valleys free of pirates and make our way to Minas Tirith."

Thinking of this earlier conversation, Gimli muttered to himself.

"What's that, Gimli?" Legolas asked.

"Drasty, nasty boats. Have had enough of them, I have."

"They will not be like the tiny vessels in which we formerly rode, Gimli. They will be large, stable ships, with sails. You will be quite comfortable."

They rode by the river's edge now, having descended from the mountains shortly before reaching the Stone of Erech. Legolas noticed that the river was growing wider, the current slower.

"We must be very near Pelargir," the Elf observed.

Gimli peered around Legolas to look forward.

"Lad, in't that smoke?"

"Yes, Gimli. I fear that we come upon yet another settlement that has been attacked."

They galloped around a bend and saw several pirate ships pulling away from the remains of a village. The decks of the vessels were packed with mercenaries. Aragorn called the company to a halt, and they waited by the side of the river until the ships came abreast. Raising his voice, Aragorn hailed the foremost ship.

"You may go no further," proclaimed the Ranger. "You will _not_ enter Gondor."

The ship's boson had been sitting upon a barrel. Now he stood up and stared, half amused, half incredulous, at the small band of horsemen upon the shore.

"Who are you to deny us passage?" he mocked.

"Legolas," said Aragorn, "fire a warning shot past the boson's ear."

Legolas was eager to comply. Ever since they had looked down into the valley of the Anduin and seen the villages that burned there, he had been awaiting this moment.

"Mind your aim," warned Gimli.

Legolas nocked an arrow and drew back the string. Just as he released the missile, Gimli jostled the bow with his axe. The arrow went astray and struck a stocky bearded fellow standing next to the boson. The Man staggered sideways and then collapsed upon the deck. Aragorn looked askance at Legolas, who glared down at Gimli, who tried to look innocent. "Oh," the Dwarf exclaimed, as if surprised. "That's it," he continued. "Right, we warned you!" he shouted across to the mercenaries. "Prepare to be boarded!"

This announcement was met with laughter. "Boarded!" sneered the boson. "By you and whose army?"

"This army," Aragorn said quietly.

All around them the army of the dead suddenly materialized. Legolas later had to admit to Gimli that he found the next few minutes to be rather funny.

"Did you see how their expressions changed, Gimli? And with such rapidity! One minute they were all arrogance; the next minute they were gibbering in panic. There was that one great lout of a fellow, festooned with the most fearsome tattoos and his hair all wild. His eyes bugged open as big as shields."

"Saucers," objected Gimli. "As big as saucers. You needn't exaggerate. Hyperbolics, in't it?"

"Hyperbole, Gimli. Very well. Saucers, then. And he had that most peculiar expression, that one wherein a person is so frightened as to almost look as if he were grinning."

"More irony," muttered Gimli.

"True, Gimli! I do call it ironic that the forces of fear should be defeated by fear."

For that is indeed what happened. Rather than face death, at the approach of the spectral army the pirates had flung themselves into the water—and so had died. Weighed down by their weapons, which were useless against those already dead, they had been dragged to the bottom of the Anduin. For years their bodies lay in that channel until at last, the ligaments having decayed, their bones began to wash up upon the shores of the river.

For now, Aragorn and his company stood upon that shore and watched as the army of wraiths swept across the water and boarded the ships. They heard the shrieks of the pirates and the splashes as their foes flung themselves overboard. At last the noise of spectral battle faded away.

"Halbarad," said Aragorn, "take your Men aboard those abandoned ships. Make haste after the pirates who are already on route to Minas Tirith. Overtake and destroy them, then wait for us to rejoin you. Take up your position near the city but not within sight of it. I and the others will go on to Pelargir, where the main fleet still awaits us. With the help of our ghostly allies, we will take that harbor and the ships anchored therein."

The army of the dead returned to the shore, the ships accompanying them as if wafted upon a stiff breeze. When the vessels were near enough, Men of the Dúnedain waded out and lowered the gangplanks so that the horses might be led aboard. Then the Men set sail against the current, heading northeast, toward Minas Tirith.

Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli, and the sons of Elrond as well, now rode swiftly onward. They could smell the sea in the air, and Legolas heard a cry that had hitherto only figured in his dreams.

"Are those gulls, Aragorn?" he asked wonderingly.

Aragorn, who had traveled throughout Middle-earth, replied that they were.

"Galadriel sent me a message about gulls," Legolas said dreamily. "Gandalf gave it me. The Lady said, 'Legolas Greenleaf long under tree / In joy thou hast lived. Beware of the Sea/ If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore/ Thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more'."

Aragorn looked sharply at Legolas. "My friend," he said, "it is not yet your time—nor shall it be for many a year, I hope."

As if to reinforce Aragorn's words, Gimli dug his fingers into the Elf's sides. "Gimli," Legolas protested indignantly. "Whatever is the matter!?"

"The Lady sent _me_ a message as well," Gimli proclaimed proudly. "Don't you want to hear it?"

Legolas was on the verge of pointing out that he had already heard the Lady's message to Gimli, and repeatedly, at that. But as ever he was touched by the childlike pleasure that Gimli took in any sign that he stood in the good graces of the Lady of the Golden Wood. "Yes, Gimli," he said indulgently. "I should be delighted to hear the message the Lady sent you."

The Dwarf carefully cleared his throat, as if about to deliver a speech of mighty import. "The Lady said," he recited, "'Lockbearer, wherever thou goest my thought goes with thee. But have a care to lay thine axe to the right tree!'"

Hearing the word axe spoken, Aragorn glanced back over his shoulder. "Gimli, you may soon have employment for that axe," he called.

Legolas urged Arod forward. Soon all four horses were abreast, and one Man, three Elves, and one Dwarf gazed upon the port of Pelargir. Many of its buildings smoldered, and numerous were the townsfolk who lay dead in its streets, sprawled where they had been overtaken by pitiless mercenaries. Most of the slain were women and children, for the Men the pirates had preferred to seize as slaves. Aragorn and his companions could see where long lines of chained Men were being forced on board ships, those who were unfortunate enough to be rearmost lashed onward by the whips of their ruthless captors. Other Men were already on board and had been chained to benches, from which they would be forced to row their masters the long way to Minas Tirith.

Aragorn turned and addressed his army of phantoms, invisible though they were. "You have performed already one task toward your redemption. You secured for us the boats in the valley beyond the Stone of Erech. I ask that you perform two more tasks, to help us here and at Minas Tirith. Upon completion of the third task, I will hold your debt paid."

The King of the Dead suddenly appeared before them and addressed Aragorn. "Can we trust you to keep your word?"

"You can," Aragorn replied. "I am a Man of honor."

"As we shall now prove ourselves to be," replied the wraith. He turned and beckoned to his followers, and suddenly an entire army materialized before the port of Pelargir. From the town, shouts were raised as the mercenaries realized that a host was upon them. Legolas saw the pirates pushing small catapults and trebuchets into position, and he smiled, remembering the arrow that he had shot through the spectral body of the King of the Dead.

The host swept past Aragorn and his companions and advanced upon Pelargir. In response, the pirates began lobbing missiles amongst the ranks of the dead. As Legolas had expected, however, the rocks and broken bits of masonry passed harmlessly through the incorporeal 'flesh' of the spectral warriors, and as the army of the dead continued to advance, the mercenaries broke ranks and scrambled for their vessels. But as before, water was no impediment to the dead. They did not breathe and thus could not drown. Passing through and above the water, they boarded the ships, and once again terrified pirates leaped into water, where they perished.

Aragorn and his companions at once set about freeing the enslaved Men of Pelargir. Here Gimli was in his element. He hastened to a smithy and found the proper tools for striking off chains. Chisel and mallet in hand, he went from coffle to coffle, and soon Men eager for justice clustered around Aragorn. Some could fight, all could row, and before sundown a fleet of ships, under the command of Isildur's heir, was making its swift way up the Anduin, hastened both by the wind and by the willing efforts of Men who jostled one another for turns at the oars.

As the sails of the fleet were being raised, Elladan and Elrohir reminded Aragorn that they carried a banner sewn for him by Arwen, one which bore the symbols of the house of Elendil. "Choose a vessel as your flagship," urged Elrohir, "and raise high this banner that proclaims you Isildur's heir."

"Nay, Elrohir," Aragorn replied. "If I fly the banner openly, spies may carry word of it to Sauron. Better that we should sail under the flag of our enemy so that we may come upon our foes unawares."

Aragorn's foster brothers saw the wisdom of this counsel and put away the banner. Each of the twins then took command of a boat. But in the foremost boat sailed Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas. With the Men of Pelargir laboring at the oars, the three friends for a little while had naught to do but rest. Aragorn went into the bow of the ship and lit his pipe, something he had not done since Gandalf's fall into the chasm of Khazad-dûm. As for Gimli and Legolas, they went into the stern, where Legolas gazed back wistfully as Pelargir slipped into the distance.

"What's the matter with you, lad?" Gimli asked worriedly.

"I have never been this close to the sea," Legolas replied. "Only a few more miles and I should have seen it with my own eyes."

Gimli snorted. "Funny expression, that."

"How do you mean, Gimli?"

"'Seen it with my own eyes'. What other eyes would you see it with, I'd like to know! Not someone else's, surely."

"You are being too literal minded, Gimli. One may metaphorically 'see' with another's eyes. In my case, however, I merely meant that I have seen the ocean in my dreams but not in person."

"I thought that you were a woodland Elf. Why would you dream of the sea?"

"The Eldar came from the West," explained Legolas, "from beyond the Great Sea. And to the West we shall return. All Elves feel at least some sea-longing."

Gimli looked alarmed. "Return to the West?"

Legolas caught the distressed look upon the face of his friend.

"I don't suppose I shall be leaving anytime soon, Gimli," he hastened to reassure the Dwarf.

"You'd better not," spluttered the Nauga. "I, ah, well, Aragorn needs you, don't you know! Wouldn't do to leave him in the lurch. Wouldn't be companionable, like. No, nor loyal, neither."

"I pray that I am never disloyal to a friend," Legolas said with as much solemnity as he could muster. He was afraid that his ears must twitch from his struggle to avoid smiling at the Dwarf's attempt to be nonchalant about their friendship. Had he been Elrond, his eyebrows would have been skittering all over his forehead.

"All right, then," said Gimli, calming himself. "I reckon you will do your best."

"I shall," Legolas assured him.

Under a lowering sky, the wind swelled the black sails and they traveled swiftly toward Minas Tirith.

"Good luck that we've got this wind," observed Gimli, anxious to make landfall, even though they were sure to be met by a welcoming party of Orcs and their foul allies.

Legolas shook his head. "'Tisn't luck, Gimli. The Dark Lord has sent this wind to hasten his fleet to the destruction of Minas Tirith. Aragorn was wise not to hoist his banner but to instead leave in place the sails of our foes. Sauron unwittingly aids us on our way."

"There's some more of that irony," chortled Gimli.

Legolas grinned. He glanced one last time in the direction of the now-invisible port of Pelargir. "I think I shall sharpen my blades, Gimli. We can't expect the dead to do all our fighting for us."

"And I my axe," agreed Gimli.

The two sat side by side in comfortable silence, each tending to his weapons. They were thus occupied when Aragorn came back from the prow of the vessel.

"I see boats anchored ahead," he declared. "Legolas, come forward, that I may be sure that they are Halbarad and his Men."

Legolas went forward to the prow and confirmed that the boats were indeed occupied by Halbarad and the others of the Dúnedain. Aragorn took a deep breath. "Then we are very near Minas Tirith. We shall be going into battle shortly." He put one hand on Legolas' shoulder and the other on Gimli's. The two reciprocated, clasping both Aragorn's shoulders and one another's, so that the three friends stood linked in small, tight circle. Aragorn opened his mouth, but before he could say a word he was interrupted by Gimli. "Now don't go speechifying," blustered the Dwarf. "Anything you've got to say can keep until later, after we have sent those Orcs packing."

Legolas smiled at Aragorn. "Gimli is right my friend. There is no need for speech."

"But what if—" began Aragorn. "If?" Legolas said, "Then words would no longer have any meaning. Whatever the event, you see, speech is bootless. Your feelings and your actions—they will suffice."

Aragorn thought at once of the death of Boromir and nodded. It had been Boromir's actions at the end that had said all that needed to be said. And Aragorn's words, too, had been few—on that occasion and on most others. The Ranger remembered all those times when he had communicated with Legolas and Elladan and Elrohir through gestures and glance. 'The less it is necessary to speak with someone', he thought to himself, 'the better you know that person'. He returned Legolas' smile and smiled upon Gimli as well. He squeezed the shoulder of each. Then, stepping back, he drew Andúril from its scabbard. Raising it on high, he said simply, "This sword shall speak for me."

They drew abreast of the lead boat of the Dúnedain, and Halbarad rowed across in a skiff so that he and Aragorn might take counsel one last time. Swiftly the Ranger described the harbor and the paths that led from the wharf to the Plain of Pelennor. After they had settled upon the ordering of the fleet, Halbarad returned to his vessel. Before Halbarad reentered his skiff, however, Aragorn embraced him. "Thank you, my friend," was all the Ranger said. Halbarad looked keenly upon him, then nodded his head. "You will lead our people well, Aragorn son of Arathorn," he said. "You have been preparing for it all your life."

Aragorn ordered that the banner sewn for him by Arwen be made ready. It was still furled, but it was affixed to the top of the mast so that it might be revealed upon the instant. The youngest of the crew he set at the foot of the mast. "When you see me raise my sword," he instructed the boy, "unfurl the banner." Then Aragorn ordered the Men of Pelargir to crouch down below the gunnels. The army of wraiths was of course invisible. The Ranger told Gimli and Legolas that, the sails being set, the three of them would suffice to bring the boat into the harbor. "Ah, so to any onlooker it would appear that we have a _skeleton_ crew, eh, Aragorn," Gimli chortled. Aragorn spared a brief smile, but then stared forward intently as they rounded a bend in the river and caught sight of the distant walls of Minas Tirith. From that city smoke arose, and Legolas, with his keen vision, descried flames.

Into the harbor sailed the fleet with its anxious cargo. Men who were crouched low, below the level of the gunnels, pulled on lines to furl the sails so that the boats would slow as they neared the wharf. Upon that wharf stood a rabble of Orcs. Seeing no enemies, they made no move to prevent the ships from pulling up to the pier, and a few of the smaller ones, the slaves of slaves, scuttled forward to seize lines that the hidden Men flung from the ship so that the vessels might be secured to the dock. When the mooring lines had been coiled about posts, the largest of the Orcs, the leader of the rout, swaggered forward. He wore a helmet adorned with a skull from which dangled strips of mummified skin, and he had been pacing impatiently, snarling at his subalterns. "Late, as usual, pirate scum," he snarled as he shoved his underlings out of his way. "There's knife work here needs doing," he continued. "Come on, you sea rats—get off your ships!"

Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas obliged by springing up and over the gunwale, all of them, even Gimli, landing square upon their feet, their muscles tensed for battle. For a moment befuddled Orcs stood gaping as the three warriors strode determinedly forward. Then the skull-helmed leader smirked. No doubt he thought that his Orcs would quickly reduce these intruders to scraps of bone and flesh. Perhaps he would have a new head to replace the one upon his helmet. It _was_ getting a little tatty.

The three interlopers, however, had no intention of being so reduced. At Legolas' side, Gimli made known that he was ready to renew the game that Elf and Dwarf had formerly played at Helm's Deep. "There's plenty for the both of us," he goaded Legolas. "May the best Dwarf win!" Legolas did not deign to reply but merely reached toward his quiver. Simultaneously, Gimli hefted his axe, and Aragorn drew his sword.

The leering Orc raised his arm to signal the attack, but in reply Aragorn lifted aloft the Sword Reforged. At this gesture many things happened all at once: the banner of Isildur's heir was unfurled, the Dunédain and the Men of Pelargir rose up from where they were hidden, and the dead revealed themselves. At the sight of the latter, gibbering Orcs broke ranks, and Aragorn and his allies were at once in their midst, taking full advantage of the confusion of their foes. With Aragorn always in the forefront, the company fought its way from the landing and onto the Pelennor.

As they reached that broad swathe of land, they saw that they had arrived none too soon. Théoden's Riders were on the field and had been fighting valiantly, and for a time it had seemed that they would win to the gates of the city. But the Dark Lord's lieutenant had perceived the peril in which his forces stood and had unleashed Mûmakil, enormous tusked beasts upon whose back rode Southrons and Easterlings. The Rohirrim attempted to engage with the behemoths, riding in close and shooting at their eyes or at their huge trunk-like legs. Some even ventured to gallop alongside the beasts in hopes that with their swords they could slash limb tendons and so fell the monsters in that fashion. All too often, however, the Riders were defeated by the tough hides of the Mûmakil—and that if they were not cut down first by Southrons and Easterlings, who shot arrows or hurled spears at all who dared approach their walking war towers.

"To Théoden," shouted Aragorn. With the dead passing amongst their enemies and throwing them into disarray, the Dúnedain and the Men of Pelargir began to carve a path toward the Rohirrim. Legolas and Gimli fought alongside them, ferociously throwing themselves into their 'game'. "Fifteen, sixteen," counted Legolas as he shot arrow after arrow. "Seventeen, eighteen," shouted Gimli, determined not to be outdone and swinging his great battle axe from side to side as if it were a scythe and he a farmer cutting his way through a field of grain. "Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one," chanted Legolas. "Twenty-two," grunted Gimli, his axe momentarily stuck in the kneecap of a Troll. He yanked the weapon free, and the Troll crumpled to the ground. Still alive, the huge creature flailed with his club at the Dwarf, who evaded the blow and then darted in to deliver a killing blow to the Troll's skull. "Twenty-three," bellowed the Nauga.

"No double-counting," protested Legolas, glancing back over his shoulder.

"That ought to count as two," Gimli shouted back. "Didn't you see its size!?"

Ignoring Gimli, Legolas stooped to seize spent Rohirrim arrows, for his quiver was nearly empty. When he straightened, through the dust he spied a slight figure crawling desperately toward an abandoned sword, with an Orc in close pursuit. 'That lad is the one who rode at the end of the column when we left Edoras', the Elf said to himself. The Orc stalking the slender youth was an enormous one, with an eye overgrown with scar tissue and a damaged hand curled into a useless simulacrum of a claw. But the other hand was strong enough, and it clutched a mace, its head jagged with spikes. "Aragorn!" shouted Legolas, gesturing toward the fearsome creature and its quarry. A few strides and the Ranger had caught up with the Orc and with one blow of his sword hacked off the arm clutching the mace. Aragorn at once moved on, but behind him came Gimli, and with his axe the Dwarf finished off the Orc. In the swirl of dust, Legolas could no longer spy the youth, but the Elf had no time to further see to the safety of the lad, for Aragorn was calling for him. "Legolas!" the Man shouted urgently. Legolas turned toward where the Man beckoned and saw a Mûmak rampaging toward them. The beast was swinging its massive skull from side to side, and with each sweep of its enormous head its deadly tusks cut a swathe through Théoden's Men. Riderless horses and unhorsed Riders were fleeing before the stampeding Mûmak, but Legolas ran straight toward it.

Avoiding the chains and spikes affixed to the tusks, Legolas leaped onto one tusk and allowed its momentum to catapult him toward one of the massive front legs of the beast. From there he sprang onto a back leg. Théoden's Men had peppered this leg with arrows, and using these shafts as hand holds, Legolas quickly climbed atop the Mûmak. Balancing upon the beast's hindquarters, with his bow the Elf began to pick off the Haradrim in the war tower strapped onto the back of the immense creature. "Thirty three, thirty four," he chanted. As his first foes fell over the side of the wickerwork tower, the remainder became aware of this threat at their backs. One Southron vaulted over the wickerwork and came at Legolas with a scimitar. The Elf nimbly sidestepped him. Unable to arrest his charge, the screaming Southron plummeted from the back of the beast. A second Haradrim came at Legolas with a spear, but the Sinda dodged the blow and managed to lay hold of the spear shaft and wrench it sideways. Losing his balance, the Southron followed his fellow to the field below.

Before any other Southrons could charge him, Legolas threw himself off the side of the Mûmak, but he did not fall into the midst of the battle. Instead, he seized a dangling rope, and swinging from this cable with one hand, he used the other to slash at the straps that held the war tower in place. The restraints severed, the wickerwork began to slide sideways, away from Legolas. The Elf clung to the rope, and he was pulled back up onto the top of the Mûmak. He regained the back of the beast as the war tower crashed onto the dirt. Its screaming occupants were at once surrounded and dispatched by Théoden's warriors.

Left in sole possession of the 'field', as it were, Legolas ran up the spine of the Mûmak until he stood upon its head. Swiftly he drew three arrows and fitted them to his bow. These he released point blank into the skull of the animal at that point at which all mammals are most vulnerable—the center where the plates of the skull join. The Mûmak roared in agony, and if Legolas had been standing to the side, he would have seen its eyes turn white as the pupils disappeared into its head. Then the beast began to lose control of its body. The front legs went first, and the Mûmak collapsed forward. Fearing that it would roll sideways as it convulsed, the Elf descended from the dying beast as rapidly as he knew how. The Mûmak had raised its trunk one last time, and then this long proboscis fell heavily upon the ground. As the trunk came to rest, Legolas leaped upon it and slid down it as easily as he had slid down the steps at Helm's Deep. Clearing the slight upturn at the end of the trunk, Legolas landed squarely upon his feet—and directly in front of Gimli. Chin tilted jauntily, the Elf looked triumphantly at the Dwarf. Gimli glowered back. "That still only counts as one—unless you let my Troll count double!"

Legolas smirked, but only briefly. The lines of their foes had been broken, and most of the Mûmakil had at last fallen to the combined effects of spear, arrow, and sword. The battle raged on nonetheless. Fell beasts circled overhead, and whether animated by fear or fury, they drove the Orcs onward into feats of increasing desperation. In the distance Legolas saw the largest of these beasts alight upon the ground, near where the standard of Théoden had been raised, but he could not make out what was happening in the swirl of dust that at once surrounded the fell creature. Suddenly he heard a hellish screech, a high-pitched howl that froze even his elven blood. All about him Men cowered. Yet after a moment the sound dwindled until it was no more fearsome than the keening of a nightjar. Then it was gone. Above, fell beasts wheeled about and fled toward the east. On the ground, Orcs ran about frantically, wielding their weapons ineffectually until cut down either by Rohirrim or by soldiers of Gondor who now streamed out from the city. Legolas lowered his bow and stood looking about him. Gimli drew near, and then, the Valar be praised, Gandalf was upon the Pelennor, and Pippin, too. But there was no time yet for reunions. The dead massed behind their King and approached Aragorn where he stood surveying the field of victory.

"Release us!" demanded the King.

Beside Legolas, Gimli stirred. The Dwarf had forgotten neither the moment when the dead had seemed to refuse Aragorn's summons, nor the pain this refusal had caused the Ranger. The Nauga had also noticed how effective a fighting force the wraiths had been. Allowing sway to both his resentment and his practicality, the Dwarf expressed his disapproval of the notion that the dead had paid their debt. "Bad idea!" he grumbled. "Very handy in a tight spot, these lads—despite the fact they're dead."

The King of the Dead stared unwaveringly at the uncrowned king of Gondor. "You gave us your word!" he said accusingly.

Aragorn stared back with a steadiness of gaze that matched the expression upon the face of the wraith. Smudged with dirt and smoke, Aragorn nonetheless looked regal. "I hold your oath fulfilled. Go. Be at peace."

A look of mingled exultation and relief spread over the skull-like face of the King of the Dead. A breeze sprung up—a warm one this time—and like smoke the army of apparitions dissolved and vanished from the field.

From his vantage point nearby, Gandalf caught Aragorn's eye and inclined his head in a gesture of respect. Legolas saw the relief pass over the Ranger's face as the Man realized that he had passed yet another test. Then Aragorn straightened his shoulders and looked about the battlefield. Suddenly a spasm passed over his face. Legolas followed his gaze and saw with dismay that nearby a Man garbed as a Ranger lay facedown upon soil stained with blood. Swiftly Aragorn went to the Man and kneeling beside him carefully turned him upon his back. It was Halbarad, and Legolas, drawing near, saw at once that Aragorn's kinsman would nevermore return to the North.

Aragorn bowed his head. "Ónen i-Estel Edain," he murmured. "Ú-chebin Estel anim." _I gave hope to the Dúnedain. I have kept no hope for myself._

Aragorn remained kneeling for several minutes as Legolas and the others waited respectfully. Then Aragorn drew Halbarad's cloak over his face and rose to his feet. "Pippin," he said, "will you stand vigil by my kinsman until his body is removed from the field?"

"Yes, Aragorn," Pippin said anxiously. "But what of Merry?"

"Merry would have been sent back safe to Edoras. This Théoden promised me."

Just then a cry of anguish arose from the point near which Legolas had seen the fell beast alight and where Théoden's banner still fluttered in the breeze.

"That is Éomer's voice," exclaimed Legolas.

The Elf and his companions hastened toward the banner. Near it Théoden lay dead beside the body of his stallion Snowmane. There, too, was Éomer, who knelt upon the ground, crying unashamedly. But it was not for Théoden that Éomer mourned. His uncle had lived a full life and had died honorably. Here there was no cause for weeping. No, Éomer grieved for the lad who had ridden out from Edoras at the rear of the column. But no lad was this, Legolas suddenly realized. For the youngster no longer wore a helm, and revealed to all was the pale, still visage of Éowyn, the King's niece. At once the Elf understood what had happened. The shield-maiden had ridden disguised, determined to stand—perchance to die—by the side of her uncle. And in doing so she had performed a mighty deed, for the fell beast lay nearby, its neck severed, and by it the slashed robes of a Ring-wraith. By their sumptuousness and by the crown that lay in their midst, Legolas knew that these garments had been worn by the chief of the Nazgûl. Atop the rent garments, its tip thrust through the crown, rested a sword. Legolas recognized the weapon. It had been wielded by Éowyn the night that she had crossed blades with Aragorn.

Then the Elf gave a start. There was another blade, a tiny one almost hidden by the robes, and this weapon, too, he recognized. Pippin recognized it, also.

"Merry!" the Hobbit cried, looking about wildly. "Merry!" So Éowyn had not been the only one to ride disguised into battle.

"Pippin," Aragorn said gently, "I give you leave to search for your kinsman. Halbarad will be seen to by another." Aragorn looked about. Elladan and Elrohir drew near. Their cloaks were slashed, their faces smudged by the blood of their foes, but they were otherwise unharmed. "Brothers," Aragorn called, "will you guard the body of Halbarad? I would not leave him be a feast for crows."

The twins looked stricken at the news that the Man had fallen, for he had been much esteemed amongst the Elves of Rivendell. "We will see to your kinsman, Aragorn," Elladan assured his foster-brother. "He will be afforded every honor that may be contrived upon a field of battle."

"Hannon le," Aragorn said gratefully. He returned his attention to Éomer, who still knelt weeping beside the body of his sister.

"Come," Aragorn said. "Let us fashion a bier so that your sister may be carried into the city. She at least will not remain a moment longer in this place of carnage."

And soon a small but solemn procession was making its way toward the broken gates of Minas Tirith.


	35. Chapter 35: The Hands of a King

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**There is a slight crossover in this chapter. You'll know it when you see it!**

**Thanks to the following reviewers: **_**Elfinabottle, Joee1, Mirwen Sunrider, Telcontar Rulz, Innocentenough, Starlight9, windwraith, CAH, The Inebriated Lion-Minion, LovewithWars, **_**and **_**Apsenniel**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Lord of the Rings.**_

**Beta Reader: **_**Dragonfly.**_

**Chapter 35: The Hands of a King **

Legolas slowly rubbed an oiled cloth over the haft of one of his matched blades. As he carefully removed all traces of dirt and blood, he mulled over what Gandalf had hastily told him as the wizard snatched a quick bite before vanishing once more. Frodo and Sam, the Istar had said, were likely alive and free, for they had recently been encountered in the forest of Ithilien by Faramir, son of the Steward of Gondor and brother to Boromir. Gandalf had moreover observed that, had the two Hobbits been captured or slain, the battle for Minas Tirith no doubt would have turned out quite differently, for the Dark Lord would have gained possession of the Ring. The wizard also told Legolas that Faramir now lay in the House of Healing within the Citadel, for the son of the Steward had been injured in an attempt to retake Osgiliath, a city whose ruins stood upon the near bank of the Anduin.

"Osgiliath has changed hands several times," Gandalf had said somberly, rolling a cup of wine between his hands. "Built by Men of Gondor, Osgiliath once was a thriving city, if never the equal of Minas Tirith. Then Sauron sent his minions against it, and after a valiant defense the Gondorians were forced to retreat. It was Boromir who led the army of Men that retook the ruins of the city, driving the Orcs back across the river, and it was Faramir who was assigned to hold it after Boromir departed on his journey to Rivendell. Yet Sauron never ceased to send his slaves to probe Osgiliath's defenses, and at last the garrison was overwhelmed by a far superior force. Denethor was a fool to send Faramir back to Osgiliath in hopes that his cavalry might again retake the ruined city. Men—good Men, brave Men—charging across a plain at an enemy under cover! What folly! Those Men were doomed from the moment they took saddle. Denethor would have done better to turn his thoughts to strengthening the walls of Minas Tirith."

"Then why did Denethor order such a sortie?" asked Legolas, puzzled. "Was he not accounted wise? As a leader—as a father!—why was he not more chary of expending Men needlessly?"

Gandalf shook his head. "He was wise once, but now it is known that Denethor was mad when he issued orders for the futile attack upon the entrenched Orcs. Do you remember the Palantír, Legolas?"

Legolas winced. He had only briefly felt the power of that accursed object, but that was enough to make him leery of the malevolent globe. When the Sinda had struck the Palantír from Aragorn's hands, he had felt a painful jolt—a stab of fire that had run up his arms and into his shoulders. Remembering the pain, the Elf flexed his fingers.

"Ah, so you do remember," Gandalf said shrewdly. "You are of the Eldar and not as susceptible to sorcery as a mortal Man. Yet you have glimpsed the great power that a Palantír may exert over folk who handle such an object unadvisedly. Denethor hid the existence of a Seeing Stone, and he deemed himself equal to the task of interpreting that which he saw within the globe. But visions may be equivocal—Galadriel has taught you that!—and Denethor succumbed to despair at his glimpses of that which the Dark Lord permitted him to see. For doubtless Denethor, like Saruman, was the slave of the Palantír and not its master."

Gandalf took a long draught from his cup before continuing. "You have not had much opportunity to talk to Pippin, so I shall tell you more of what befell Faramir. He was wounded in the attempt to recapture Osgiliath, but his horse bore him back to the gates of the city. The wound itself was of no matter, but he fell into despair, fevered in both mind and body, for he had come under the influence of the Black Breath, that execrable exhalation of those foul beasts, the Nazgûl. Denethor, in his madness thinking that the end of Men was at hand, had Faramir borne living into a tomb and laid upon a pyre. The Steward drenched both himself and his son in oil, and the torches were made ready. Thank the Valar that Pippin had both the wit and the courage to seek me out! Neglecting his own safety, the lad ran pell mell into the battle that raged at the gates of the city. Has he told you that he took out an Orc? No? Modest little fellow. Yes, a particularly nasty specimen crept up behind me, but Pippin skewered him before he could skewer me! Good thing, too, and not just on my account. The gates lay in ruins, and the chief of the Ring-wraiths was knocking on the door—and none too politely, neither. I was all that stood between him and the folk of Minas Tirith. Then, as we faced one another, a horn sounded—that would have been Théoden's doing, bless him! The Ring-wraith decided to leave me for later and flew off to muster his army against the charge of the Rohirrim. Then it was that Pippin and I fled to the tomb in Rath Dínen. Faramir we saved, but Denethor perished in a conflagration of his own devising."

Gandalf had grown animated as he told the tale. Now he suddenly sobered. "I say that Faramir we saved, but yet not so. The Black Breath lies heavy on him, as it does on Éowyn. Aye, and on Merry, too. It may be that Faramir shall yet be laid to rest in the Silent Street."

'Will our triumphs evermore be naught but fleeting victories?' Legolas said to himself. 'Brief moments of promise all too soon overwhelmed by resurgent cares?' The Elf had been at the side of Éomer when the Rider had learned that his sister, although grievously injured, yet lived. Hope had been kindled in the heart of Éomer, as it had been kindled in Pippin's breast when after hours of searching he had discovered Merry lying unconscious, hidden by the cloak of a Man who had fallen beside him. Yet hope dwindled as the hours had passed and neither Éowyn nor Merry nor Faramir had regained consciousness. Legolas sighed. Gandalf looked at him with understanding and then put aside his cup and arose, groaning a little, for he was not a little bruised from the buffets he had received in the battled before the gates of Minas Tirith. "Hope or no hope," he said, "I shall return now to the House of Healing and tend to the injured." With that, the Istar strode from the room. In his wake he left one very distressed Elf. Legolas had known from the beginning that the Hobbits were in just as much peril as the other, larger members of the Fellowship—or in even greater peril, as in the case of Frodo. Nonetheless, he found it hard to fathom—let alone accept—that little Merry might well and truly die. The Elf began to pace back and forth in agitation.

"What ails you, lad?" asked Gimli anxiously when he returned from the Street of Smiths, where he had been forging hinges to replace ones destroyed by the battering rams that the Trolls had wielded.

"Gimli, Merry may die!"

"I know, lad," Gimli said sadly. "And not just Merry. The smith's boy says that he has heard tell that both Faramir and the Lady Éowyn sink deeper and deeper into evil dreams. 'Twas his mother told him this, and he says she has been nursing the injured in the House of Healing, changing their linens and suchlike. So I reckon she knows the truth of the matter."

Legolas struck his palm upon the table.

"That won't do no good, Legolas," the Dwarf adjured him. "Save your hands to wield your blades."

Legolas resumed his pacing. Gimli cajoled him to sit from time to time, but then the Elf would leap up once more and the Dwarf would have to calm him all over again. "I do believe," Gimli grumbled after awhile, "that I understand what it means to 'gentle a horse', for you are as skittish as an untamed stallion."

Legolas sighed and threw himself upon a bench. Just then Gandalf returned to the pavilion. He looked more tired and worn than formerly, and this gave Legolas something new to worry about.

"Mithrandir," he exclaimed, addressing the wizard by his elven name. "You are going to sicken!"

"Which is why," the Istar replied acerbically, "that I have returned to rest and sup a little."

At his words, Gimli and Legolas tried to outdo one another at fetching mug and plate, loaf and wine. The wizard found himself smiling a little at this latest competition between the two, especially when Dwarf and Elf leaned in toward Gandalf at the same time and actually managed to crack heads. "Delightful," the Istar murmured. "Perhaps this will be a new way of knocking sense into the both of them."

"Pardon, Gandalf?" said Legolas.

"Nothing, my boy—just hand me that wedge of cheese, will you?"

Legolas obliged, managing to seize hold of the cheese just in advance of Gimli's own attempt to lay hands upon it. The two glared at each other.

"Delightful," Gandalf murmured again.

"What's that you say," asked Gimli suspiciously.

"Good cheese, this," Gandalf said blandly. He rose to his feet. "Now I have supped and rested a little, I'd best return to the House of Healing."

"Gandalf," Legolas said abruptly, "may I assist you?" He could not bear the thought of remaining in the pavilion and doing nothing.

The wizard shrugged. "You are no more proficient in herbs than I, for we both studied the art of healing at the hands of Elrond. Yet mayhap the mere presence of an Elf will have a beneficial effect—not least upon me! Yes, you may accompany me, my lad."

Legolas turned to Gimli. "Will you come, Gimli?" The Dwarf shook his head. "A sick room would provide no scope for my talents. I shall return to the smithy. And perhaps later I will stand Aragorn company, wherever that lad has gotten himself to."

Gandalf nodded at Gimli. "You do that, Master Dwarf. I believe you will find Aragorn in the pavilion of Imrahil, Prince of the city of Dol Amroth, who rules in the stead of Faramir, who cannot yet assume the place of his father."

Legolas' ears pricked up when he heard Gandalf use the word 'yet'. 'Faramir cannot _yet_ assume the place of his father', the Elf repeated. 'If Gandalf uses that word, then perchance there is hope that he still _shall_'.

With that thought in mind, Legolas set out at the side of the wizard. When they arrived at the temporary barricade that had been erected at the entrance to the city, the guards looked curiously at Legolas, but at a word from Gandalf, they allowed the Elf to pass. As they walked on, Legolas looked about with interest at this city that he had heard much of but never seen at close hand.

"It is cleverly laid out, is it not?" said Gandalf, noticing the Elf's curiosity. "See how the Men of Gondor made use of the mountain to defend themselves on that side at least. Gollum, I suppose, could scale that mountain and come down from above, but none others of Sauron's creatures could achieve that feat."

Legolas gazed up at the crags above and agreed with Gandalf's assessment.

"Now of course," continued Gandalf, "with determination and a large enough force it was possible to breach the main gate, but observe how the city is laid out in seven walled tiers. Anyone breaching the first gate would have to break through a second and a third, and so on. Moreover, the gates are not laid out in line one with the other. Should one gate be breached, the attacking force would not be able to go to work straightaway upon the next gate but would be forced to fight its way through many streets before it could resume its attempt to ascend to the highest circle, where dwell the Steward and his advisors. It would take much effort to altogether reduce this city!"

"As long as it is defended," Legolas pointed out. "From what you have previously told me, it very nearly fell from within!"

"That is true of any fortress," Gandalf replied. "If the defenders lose heart, no walls, no matter how thick or how tall, will keep out the enemy."

Legolas nodded gravely. Sauron had, it seemed, caused the greatest damage by working on the minds of those whom he would defeat. The illnesses of Merry, Éowyn, and Faramir were of a piece with that fact.

Gandalf and Legolas arrived at last at the House of Healing. It was pleasant inside, the rooms airy and filled with sunlight tinged gold and green from its passage through the gardens that could be glimpsed through open windows. Indeed, the rooms were well-ventilated enough to have suited even Elrond, and the injured were being tended with great care and skill by Men and Women who had long practiced the healing arts. Yet for all their care, their patients were dying. As the wizard and Elf stepped across the threshold, they saw the Master of the Healers looking on sorrowfully as a blanket was drawn over the face of a young Man who had suffered only a slight wound to the arm.

"My Lord Mithrandir," the Master of the Healers cried when he saw Gandalf. "Have you recalled any additional spells that may be of use? Several have died in your absence, and others grow worse—among them our Lord Faramir. Aye, and the Lady of Rohan as well, and the little Perian."

Gandalf shook his head sadly. "Nay, I have remembered no additional lore. I have only myself to offer." With that, Gandalf made his way to Éowyn where she lay still and pale upon a pallet. Kneeling beside her, he laid his hand upon her forehead and murmured. Softer and softer he spoke, becoming less and less animated as he strove to gift Éowyn with some of his own strength. At last he staggered and Legolas caught him by the shoulder. "You must save some energy for yourself," the Elf said worriedly. Gandalf shook his head and struggled to his feet. Swaying a little, the wizard insisted on visiting Faramir, and from there he went to Merry's bedside. "You may stave off their death a little while," protested Legolas, "but you cannot save them—not unless there is another way!"

A woman looked on mournfully, her arms filled with linens. "If only we lived in ancient times," she lamented. "In those days a king sat upon the throne in this city, and it is said that the hands of the king were the hands of a healer. Mayhap it would be true today. If only there were a king!"

Suddenly Gandalf was reanimated. "What did you say?" he exclaimed.

The women curtsied nervously, dropping the linens in her confusion at being addressed by the wizard who now towered over her. "An old proverb, my Lord," she stammered. "'The hands of the king are the hands of a healer'. That is what my mother always said, and her mother before her."

"Legolas—" Gandalf began.

"I will find him at once," Legolas declared. He was already making for the door. Behind him Gandalf was murmuring. "Estel," the wizard said in a wondering tone. "Estel."

Legolas ran without stopping until he reached the pavilion of Prince Imrahil. Racing past the astonished guards, he flung aside the cloth hangings at the entrance to tent. The Prince looked up, astonished but not angry, for he recognized at once the elven companion of Lord Aragorn, who sat to his right. To the left of the Prince sat Gimli, who paused in the act of lifting cup to lip. "What's the matter, lad?" the Dwarf cried out, forgetting the niceties of rank that dictated that he should not speak until the Elf had exchanged greetings with their host. This, too, the Prince overlooked.

"Estel," exclaimed Legolas, also without concern for decorum. "Estel, you must come at once to the House of Healing. Mithrandir desires that you should."

Thus far Aragorn had steadfastly refused to enter the city. He had gone no further than the gate when he had helped the litter-bearers carry Éowyn thence. "I will pass through this gate once I am crowned," he had declared, "for to do so now, when the future is still so uncertain, may lead to squabbling amongst factions. I do not wish to do anything that will cause folk to forget that what is paramount is that all unite to bring about the defeat of the Dark Lord." Now, seeing the urgency with which Legolas spoke, Aragorn arose.

"Very well," the Dúnadan said. "If Gandalf thinks it needful, I shall enter the city."

"He does, Aragorn," replied Legolas, calming a little. "One of the healers has remembered a proverb that Gandalf thinks important. It involves you, Aragorn, for it speaks of the king."

"I am not yet the king," Aragorn answered, "nor is it certain that I ever shall be."

"You are king enough, seemingly," Legolas retorted. "But an end to this talk. Folk die as we speak."

Aragorn nodded. Inclining his head slightly to his host, he left the tent, Gimli and Legolas at his side. The Elf and the Man were evenly matched in step, but the Dwarf had to run to keep up. Still, the Dwarf had demonstrated his endurance during their race across the Plains of Rohan, and he was only a few steps behind when the three arrived at the House of Healing.

"Aragorn," Gandalf exhaled in relief when the Ranger stepped into the room where he sat vigil by Faramir. "Mayhap you can do what I cannot—bring these folk out from underneath the shadow of the Black Breath."

Aragorn looked distressed. "I do not know why you think I can do what you cannot. I am no more skilled than either you or Legolas. We all of us learned our herb lore at the hands of Elrond."

"But you are the king," persisted Gandalf.

"What if I am, Gandalf? That does not signify."

Anxiously Gandalf looked about for the woman who had uttered the proverb. Ioreth was her name, he had learned. He caught sight of her in the corner, folding and refolding a blanket as if the repetition of that act would ward off the evil that had entered the city. He beckoned her to come forward. Reluctantly she laid aside the blanket and stepped timidly toward the wizard.

"You said that the hands of the king are the hands of a healer."

"Yes, my Lord."

"What must the king do? How must he employ his hands?"

"I, I do not know," the woman stammered.

Gandalf tried to be encouraging. "You remembered a proverb, Ioreth," he said as gently as he could. "Doubtless you know a great many such sayings."

The women considered, scrunching up her face in a fashion that on another occasion would have been comical. Gimli watched her so intently that he unconsciously scrunched up his face as well, but Legolas was too rapt in the scene before him to notice. Even if he had, this was no time for levity and he would not have said a word on the subject. Ioreth continued to wrack her memory.

"There's another one has a king's hands in it," she ventured at last.

"Indeed! Can you tell it me?"

Hesitantly at first but then a little more confidently, Ioreth recited a verse. "When the black breath blows," she chanted, "and death's shadow grows / and all lights pass/ come athelas! come athelas/ Life to the dying / in the king's hand lying."

Automatically she curtsied as she came to the end of the verse. "There it 'tis, my Lord, although I do not know what athelas is."

"Ah, but you do, Ioreth," interjected the Master of the Healers. "'Tis kingsfoil you know it as."

"Oh, if that's what you want, I keep some in my home for when my littlest ails," the woman exclaimed. "My son can show you." She turned toward Gimli. "You know him, Master Dwarf. He helps my husband at the forge."

"Hurry, Gimli," urged Legolas. "Fetch some athelas as quickly as you may."

Gimli did not wait to reply but turned and ran from the chamber. He had once claimed that Dwarfs were better at distance running than at sprinting, but now he showed that he could run a distance at speed. For the smithy was in the bottommost tier of the City. Unerringly making his way through the maze of streets—Dwarfs do not become confused when surrounded by walls of stone—Gimli arrived more speedily at the door of the smithy than even a horseman could have. He burst into the forge. "Will!" he bellowed. "Will Turner. Where be you, lad!"

A skinny boy, with hair as curly as a Hobbit's and a face smudged with soot, scurried from a back room. "Master Dwarf," he exclaimed in delight. "I am done with my work for today. Have you come to keep your promise to tell me the tale of how you defeated the pirates?"

"Not now, lad, but I shall as soon as I am able," the Dwarf replied, quickly but not unkindly. "I have an errand that can nae keep. Your Ma says she keeps kingsfoil in her dwelling."

"Kingsfoil," said the boy, puzzled. "Aye, she keeps it among her simples. Does your belly ail you, Master Dwarf? For I have never seen my mother use it save as a dose for the sour stomach."

"Nay, lad, it is much more valuable than that. Had I a gold medallion, I would trade it for kingsfoil. Come! Lead me to your dwelling."

Quickly Will closed up the shop, and the Dwarf and the boy hurried to the lad's home. "A gold medallion," the boy said wistfully as they strode through the streets. "I should like a gold medallion to wear round my neck. And I should like a sword!" he continued. "I help my father make swords for others, but he says it would not do for me to have one, for I am to be a smith."

He said the last with such sadness that Gimli made a note to himself to cast the lad a gold medallion and to forge him a fine sword. The Dwarf himself loved nothing better than to spend time in a smithy, but he did not think it right that anyone be confined in a place where he was not happy. 'That's Sauron's way', he said to himself, 'to chain people in servitude, like those Men chained to their oars in the harbor of Pelargir. Why, this lad should no more be confined in a forge than Legolas should be prevented from going to sea, if that be truly his destiny'. Pushing aside these thoughts for the time being, however, the Dwarf followed the boy across the threshold of his home. "Here," said the boy, crossing the room to kneel beside a chest. He flung it open and reached inside to pull out a leather pouch, which he handed up to Gimli. The Dwarf opened it, and a faint, sweet odor arose. The Nauga recognized it as an odor that clung to Aragorn, although it was usually overwhelmed by the smell of mud and horse. "Is this what you seek, Master Dwarf," the boy asked hopefully. Gimli nodded and rose to his feet. "Let us hasten to the House of Healing," the Nauga said urgently.

Once back out on the street, Gimli strode so quickly that now it was a human who trailed a little behind a Dwarf. When the Nauga reached their destination, he remembered in time that it was a House of Healing that stood before him, and so he did not burst in precipitously. Moving with surprising grace, he slipped in and made his way to the side of Aragorn.

"I have brought the kingsfoil, Aragorn," the Dwarf said softly. "I hope it will serve."

Aragorn nodded his gratitude. While Gimli had been fetching the athelas, hot water had been prepared, and now Aragorn cast two leaves into a steaming bowl and carried the vessel to Faramir's bedside. He blew some of the fragrant steam across Faramir's face. Then he dipped a cloth into the water and laved Faramir's forehead. The Man's eyelids fluttered. After a little while, he opened his eyes and looked about, confused. His eyes at last settled upon Aragorn, whom he seemed to recognize. "My king," he said softly. Aragorn hushed him. "We will speak of that later," the Ranger said, arising. "For now, there are others I must attend to."

Aragorn went to Éowyn's side and then Merry's, ministering unto both, calling them back from the world of dark dreams in which they lingered. As he labored, messengers arrived bearing more leaves of athelas, for the Master of the Healers had bade that the smith's lad seek out additional stocks of the herb, and it seemed that many of the common folk kept the curative in their homes. More water was prepared, and soon the pleasant aroma of athelas filled the House of Healing. All who inhaled the fragrant vapor felt revivified, but it soon became apparent that the herb was most efficacious when accompanied by a touch from the hand of the Lord Healer, as Aragorn soon came to be known.

Legolas and Gimli had remained with Pippin at Merry's bedside. "Where am I?" Merry asked groggily.

"In the House of Healing," Pippin replied.

Merry opened his eyes wide and turned his head toward his friend. "Pippin," he exclaimed, delighted. "Pippin!" he repeated. Then he caught sight of the Elf and Dwarf standing behind Pippin. "Legolas! Gimli! How came you here?"

"By horse," Legolas deadpanned.

"I could have guessed _that_," Merry spluttered. "I mean, well, I last saw you before the path to the Dimholt. And now here you are. And have I been dreaming, or have Strider and Gandalf been by to see me?"

"They have," Legolas said.

"How grand! We shall have a reunion," enthused Merry. "No, wait," he said suddenly, growing solemn. "It wouldn't seem right to celebrate. King Théoden is dead—did you know that?"

"Yes, Merry," Pippin said. "We know all about that. And we know that _you_ helped Éowyn slay the Ring-wraith who murdered him."

"Did I?" said Merry wonderingly. "It seems like a dream. I remember crawling toward him on my hands and knees as he swung his mace at Éowyn. I don't know why I did—it all seemed so hopeless. He was so tall and grim, and I only a Hobbit—a Halfling, as Men say. Brandybuck stubbornness, I guess. Anyway, I crept up behind him. All I had was my small blade. Had he seen it, I am sure he should have laughed, for you know that my sword is in truth naught but a knife. But he didn't see me—he was too intent on finishing off Éowyn." Here the Hobbit shuddered a little and fell silent. "But as you have said, he didn't see you," Pippin encouraged him. "No, he didn't," said Merry, taking a deep breath and resuming the tale. "He had smashed Éowyn's shield, and he was jeering at her. He said he couldn't be hurt. 'I may be slain by no man', he said. Yes, that's it. That's exactly what he said. And all the while I crept closer until I crouched at his feet. I only managed to stab him but once in the back of his leg, and I do not think I drove the blade deep, but so staggered he was that you would have thought I had stabbed him in the heart! He left off taunting Éowyn straightaway," the Hobbit added wryly.

"Gandalf says that your blade was a Numenorean one," said Gimli, who took a professional interest in all forged weaponry. "It was bound in charms that ensured that a righteous blow struck in courage would undo the most fearsome of foes."

"It was Éowyn who finished him off, though," said Merry. "She threw his taunt in his teeth. Do you know, I hadn't even realized it was Éowyn until that point? She told me her name was Dernhelm when she offered to let me ride behind her on her horse, and she had kept as much as possible to the shadows—as I did as well, for Théoden had forbade my riding from the encampment. But now she stood before the Ring-wraith and pulled her helm from her head. 'I am no Man', she said, and I thought I was looking at the sun, her hair was that bright. Then she raised her sword and drove it through his skull—or what passed for his skull, anyway. He keened, and I wanted to cover my ears, but my arm had been all afire from the moment I struck him, and I couldn't make my limbs work. So he howled and he wailed, and all his ugliness shriveled up until nothing was left but his cloak. And then, well, there wasn't any then, I suppose you could say. I fainted, and now here I am."

"And here you shall stay," said Gandalf, returning to the room.

"But Gandalf," Merry objected, "it's not over yet, is it? For here are Legolas and Gimli and you, and I know Aragorn is hereabouts, but where are Sam and Frodo?"

"Hush, Merry," said Gandalf. "Of them we shall not speak openly."

"But Gandalf," Merry began again. Gandalf held up his hand. "Rest now."

"Yes, rest," a voice joined Gandalf's.

"Aragorn," cried Merry. "Now, all we need are—"

"Merry," Gandalf said warningly. He arose from seat he had taken upon the edge of Merry's bed. "Come, Aragorn. The battle for Minas Tirith is over. The battle for Middle-earth continues."

Beside Legolas, Gimli rolled his eyes. "Sounds durned familiar, that does," the Dwarf muttered. Aragorn followed Gandalf to the door, where he paused and signaled with a slight movement of his head that Legolas and Gimli were to follow. A war council was in the offing, apparently, and representatives of all the warrior races were to participate.

'Although', mused Legolas, looking back thoughtfully at the two Hobbits, 'it seems to me that Merry and Pippin have just as much right to be called warriors as anybody here. Pippin took out an Orc, and Merry took on a Ring-wraith, and not just any Ring-wraith, neither, but the chief of those foul creatures'.

Just then Pippin laughed—giggled, really—at something that Merry had said, and Merry playfully punched Pippin with his good arm. 'On the other hand', Legolas said to himself as he watched the Hobbits frolic, 'even though they have the _right_ to be warriors, I am glad they are not _required_ to be such. They should be like this always: playful and free of care'.

"Legolas!" demanded Gimli, who was marching on in Aragorn's wake. "Get your pointy ears over here, will you? We have a war to fight, I hope you have noticed."

With one last wistful glance at the Hobbits, Legolas dutifully turned and followed his friend.


	36. Chapter 36: A Touch of Destiny

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**There is just a bit more of the **_**Pirate**_**'s crossover in this chapter.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers: **_**Murkydew, **__**Mirwen Sunrider, milou8, Telcontar Rulz, Starlight9, windwraith, CAH, LovewithWars, **_**and **_**Apsenniel**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Lord of the Rings.**_

**Beta Reader: **_**Dragonfly**_**, who took time out of a very busy schedule to check over this chapter. Thank you, **_**Dragonfly**_

**Chapter 36: A Touch of Destiny**

Legolas looked around at the assembled lords and chieftains and thought back to the Council of Elrond, the last such gathering he had attended. It was hard to believe that only a few months had passed since that conclave. 'It has been but a brief moment in the life of the Eldar', he thought to himself, 'but it has been long enough for lives to be lost and friendships to be forged'. With that last thought in mind, he glanced at Gimli, who was lounging upon the high-backed stone chair that had been the seat of Denethor, late Steward of Gondor. The Elf smiled indulgently. Gimli had no sense of either propriety or proportion, but the Dwarf's self-assurance kept him from looking out of place in the oversized chair. 'His ego, at least,' the Elf laughed to himself, 'is in keeping with his surroundings'.

Legolas caught Gimli's eye. The Dwarf smirked at his friend and with a flourish drew out his pipe and began to pack it. Legolas rolled his eyes. Catching himself, he looked about hastily to see if anyone had noticed. More than once Erestor had set Legolas, Elladan, and Elrohir to writing 'I shall not roll my eyes' when the Master had turned about and caught the trio exchanging impudent glances.

Legolas felt another's eyes upon him and looked around. This time it was not Erestor but Gandalf who stared at him. The wizard beckoned him with a crook of his finger, and Legolas walked toward him feeling a little silly. A war council was about to commence, and he had been preoccupied with childish thoughts.

"I am sorry, Gandalf," Legolas began as soon as he stood before the wizard. Gandalf looked puzzled. "Sorry?" the Istar repeated. "Sorry for what?"

"My demeanor, Gandalf. I am sorry for my demeanor."

"Your demeanor, my lad? I don't understand. Your demeanor has been delightful."

Now it was Legolas who was puzzled. Had he not just been making faces at Gimli? How could such demeanor be 'delightful'? "Gandalf, Gimli was smirking at me, and I was rolling my eyes at him. Surely this is not the behavior you expect of us!"

Gandalf smiled at the Elf's confusion. "My lad, you told me that your spirits were lifted when you saw Merry and Pippin chaffing one another. Cannot my spirits likewise be lifted at the sight of two friends—one an Elf, the other a Dwarf—behaving in a similar fashion? Sauron will have won indeed if there is no room left in our world for lightheartedness! For that is what your mock competition represents: moments of lightheartedness in the midst of dire circumstances. I called you over to thank you, my boy. You cheer me, and I needed cheering. Your friendship with Gimli is a rebuke to Sauron, who would banish joy from the furthest corner of Middle-earth. A small matter perhaps, but it is upon small matters that our victory may be built."

Gandalf reached out and tousled Legolas' hair, something he had not done since Legolas had been an elfling. Blushing a little, Legolas went to stand by Gimli. The Dwarf looked him over critically. "Your hair's mussed," he observed. "Do you want any help tidying it?"

"No!" Legolas said hastily, glancing over at Éomer. The Elf had not forgotten the last time the Dwarf had 'helped' him with his hair. Gimli grinned, and Legolas realized that the Nauga was twitting him. He grinned back. Then he sobered as Prince Imrahil arose and held aloft the mace that represented the authority of the Steward of Gondor. The Council of Minas Tirith had begun.

Legolas soon understood why Gandalf had been in need of cheering. The wizard knew that Frodo had been at liberty the day of the Battle of the Pelennor, else Sauron's forces would have had greater success. But that was several days ago, and Gandalf could no longer be sure that Frodo remained alive and at liberty. Even if he were safe, there was no certainty that he would remain so. Gandalf paced back and forth, as near to agitated as Legolas had ever seen him. "Frodo has passed beyond my sight," the wizard said somberly. "The darkness is deepening."

Aragorn tried to reassure him. "If Sauron had the Ring we would know it," he pointed out.

Gandalf shook his head. "It's only a matter of time. He has suffered a defeat, yes, but behind the walls of Mordor our enemy is regrouping."

"Let him stay there!" erupted Gimli. "Let him rot! Why should we care?"

Gandalf glanced reprovingly at the Dwarf. "Because ten thousand Orcs now stand between Frodo and Mount Doom."

Gimli looked chastened, but not as much as Gandalf did. "I've sent Frodo to his death," the wizard said sadly.

Aragorn persisted in believing that Frodo might succeed. 'And why not', Legolas thought to himself. 'It is not for nothing that he is named Estel'.

"There is still hope for Frodo," the Dúnadan insisted. "He needs time and safe passage across the plains of Gorgoroth. We can give him that."

"How?" Gimli asked skeptically.

"Draw out Sauron's armies," Aragorn replied. "Empty his lands. Let us gather our full strength and march on the Black Gate."

Gimli gagged a little on his pipe. Éomer spoke up then.

"We cannot achieve victory through strength of arms," he opined.

"Not for ourselves," Aragorn agreed. "But we can give Frodo his chance if we keep Sauron's eye fixed upon us. Keep him blind to all else that moves."

"A diversion," Legolas exclaimed approvingly, his eyes glinting. The proposed stratagem struck him as commendably elvish in approach. The Eldar, always few in number in comparison to their enemies, had long ago learned to rely upon cleverness whenever it was apparent that strength would not suffice.

Gimli had decided that the plan met with his approval as well, but for very different reasons. "Certainty of death," he chortled. "Small chance of success. What are we waiting for?"

Legolas smiled at the Dwarf's bravado. Gandalf, however, was not as easily satisfied as Gimli. He looked challengingly at Aragorn. "Sauron will suspect a trap," he declared. "He will not take the bait."

"Oh, I think he will," Aragorn retorted confidently, a small secretive smile quirking his lips.

Later that day, after the Council had been adjourned, Legolas overheard Gandalf asking Aragorn to explain himself.

"What are you about, Aragorn?" asked the wizard. "Why are you so certain that we can trick Sauron into turning all his efforts into countering our force?"

"I have shown myself to him, Gandalf. I have looked into the Palantír of Isengard. And as I did so I held up before his Eye the Sword Reforged."

"Did you, now?" the wizard said softly. To Legolas' bewilderment, Gandalf did not seem surprised. Suddenly Legolas suspected that Gandalf had entrusted the globe to Aragorn in hopes that this very thing would occur—that Aragorn would step forward and reveal himself as Isildur's heir. For by doing so, Aragorn must have had to acknowledge to himself that that was indeed who he was.

"Did you, indeed?" the wizard repeated. He looked like a cat who had swallowed a squab and now sat comfortably digesting his meal. "I see," Aragorn said dryly, "that this news was not altogether unexpected."

Gandalf laughed. "Neither unexpected nor unwelcome, my Lord Aragorn, heir to the throne of the combined kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor. I do believe that even if Sauron _could_ close his lidless Eye, he would not wish to do so now, so fearful he must be. The whereabouts of the Ring are unknown to him, and Isildur's heir stands before him wielding the sword that deprived him of his precious bauble. Yes, Sauron shall indeed be watching us intently as we march into his domain."

Gandalf was chuckling as he arose and strode by Legolas. At the door, he paused and looked back. "Man, Hobbit, Elf, and Dwarf, I am pleased with the lot of you. Elrond and I chose well at the forming of the Fellowship."

After Gandalf had gone, Legolas looked quizzically at Aragorn. "'Chose well'?" the Elf said. "I thought we volunteered!"

Aragorn shook his head and laughed deeply for the first time in weeks. "Volunteered? My dear friend, you do not think Gandalf and Elrond would have left matters to chance, do you? Gandalf expected that Frodo would take upon him this quest. Gandalf had studied Hobbits long enough to understand that. As for me, Gandalf knew that I would pledge my sword to whoever bore the burden of the Ring. Once I did so, you would be in, for he knew you would not allow your sworn brother to venture on this quest unless you went along to 'cover his back', as the Men of Rohan say. As soon as you pledged your bow, Gimli would clamor to join the Fellowship because he would not have it be said that his folk lacked the boldness of the Elves. As for Sam, Gandalf knew that he would never have allowed himself to be parted from Frodo." Here Aragorn fell silent.

"And Boromir?" Legolas prompted.

Aragorn frowned. "Gandalf knew that Boromir would insist on going in order to protect the interests of Gondor—and to keep an eye on the Ring."

"To look for an opportunity to steal the Ring, you mean," rejoined Legolas. He said it without heat, for he no longer blamed the Man. Aragorn nodded his head. "Aye, there was a time when Boromir would have stolen the Ring," he said softly.

"Aragorn," said Legolas, "did Gandalf foresee that as well—that Boromir might try to seize the Ring? And if he thought so, why did he and Elrond allow Boromir to join the Fellowship?"

"Gandalf understood that any alliance against Sauron would fail without the support of Gondor. He could not risk alienating Boromir, for if he had, he would have lost all influence over Denethor's captains. Gandalf knew that Denethor himself was unlikely to listen to him, but as long as the Steward did not forbid him entrance to the city, he could counsel others of those who wielded authority within Minas Tirith. During the siege of Minas Tirith, this gamble paid off handsomely indeed. Pippin told me that when Denethor's courage failed, Gandalf took command of the City, and his orders were obeyed without hesitation. It helped, also, that Faramir was known to be friendly to Gandalf. Denethor's younger son was loved and respected by all, and on his account Men were willing to trust in Gandalf's wisdom."

Legolas nodded his understanding, but he had one other question. "Aragorn, you have accounted for all the members of the Fellowship save two. What of Merry and Pippin?"

Aragorn laughed again. "Ah, now those two were not part of the plan. I can assure you that both Gandalf and Elrond were surprised when our little friends barged into the Council to demand a place in the Fellowship. Did you not mark the look upon Elrond's face?"

Now Legolas laughed as well. "Indeed I did, Aragorn," he chuckled. "Elrond's eyebrows darted about his forehead—up and down and side to side—with such rapidity that it was plain that he could not decide how he ought to feel. He was surprised, indignant, and amused, and all at the selfsame time. I have not seen him so befuddled since, well, since—"

"Since you and the twins engaged in some jape or another that cast him into a similar state," Aragorn concluded for him.

Legolas grinned and did not try to deny the charge. Further talk on this subject was interrupted, however, by the arrival of a lad who bore a message from Prince Imrahil. The Prince had received reports from his captains as to which soldiers were fit for service, and it was needful that these troops be divided between those who would march against Mordor and those who would remain to garrison the City. The Council was to resume its deliberations.

"I have seen you with Gimli," Legolas said to the boy as he buckled on his quiver. "You are the smith's lad, aren't you? Will Turner, isn't it?"

"That is an unusual name for a citizen of Gondor," Aragorn observed, his curiosity piqued. "It is a name that one might encounter in Bree-land."

"My father came from north," the boy explained. "But he was made a citizen of Gondor for his courage in a skirmish when he served in a militia under the command of Lord Faramir."

Aragorn looked carefully at the boy. "From the north? Whereabouts in the north?"

"My father says that his folk dwelt for a time in a place where there were no settlements. It was called the Northern Waste for that reason. But they were hunted by evil creatures, and their leader was slain by an Orc arrow through the eye. My great-grandfather was slain, too. My great-grandmother was pregnant with my grandfather, and she fled south and settled in a village called Combe. She found work as a seamstress, and the village smith was one of those who employed her to sew for them. She married him, and he it was who gave my grandfather his name, for he was a kind man who treated him as fairly as if he were his son by birth. William Turner my grandfather was called. My father took the same name, but he is called Bill Turner, and I am called Will Turner."

"A good strong name," murmured Aragorn, "as strong as the one borne by your great-grandfather, a name as lost to you as your heritage." By then they had reached the pavilion of the Prince of Dol Amroth. Will stopped at the entrance, but Aragorn gestured that he was to follow him inside. After an exchange of formal greetings, Aragorn revealed his reason for bringing the boy into the pavilion. "My Lord," he said to the Prince, "will you take this lad into your service? For he is descended from the Dúnedain of old, and his great-grandfather died in the same skirmish in which my father lost his life."

"Your father—," faltered the boy.

"Aye, lad," nodded Aragorn. "My father, shot through the eye by an Orc in a skirmish in the Northern Waste. Will Turner, I do not think it is your destiny to be a smith. Nay, you were meant to bear a sword rather to forge swords for others."

The Prince considered. "The pirates decimated the defenses upon the seacoast, and my captains have urgently requested that I send folk to crew such ships as were not destroyed. A company of Men departs on the morrow, and this boy shall ride with them. He will start out as a ship's boy, and afterward he may rise as his deeds warrant."

The Prince beckoned to one of his Men. "See that this lad is suitably outfitted, both in dress and weaponry. He is to sail on a ship that shall pursue the pirates that menace our shores."

"If I may be permitted, Prince Imrahil," Legolas interrupted, "as to weaponry, the lad should first see Master Gimli. He has, I believe, forged something for the boy that will serve as well or better than anything that your smithies could provide. My pardon, my Lord. I do not speak out of disrespect, but it must be acknowledged that Master Gimli has been blessed by Aulë, he who was First among Smiths."

Gandalf had arrived during this exchange, and now he stood behind Legolas trying to look suitably grave. An Elf espousing the merits of a Dwarf! Delightful! The wizard was as amused as he had ever been during his sojourn in Middle-earth.

Almost at once, however, Gandalf found it necessary to be grave in deed as well as in appearance. Provision having been made for the lad, the assembled lords and leaders turned to considerations of troop strength and disposition. They were soon joined by Éomer, who provided a tally of the Men of Rohan who had survived the Battle of the Pelennor and were not injured so severely as to be incapable of fighting anew.

"We did not do as badly against the wild beasts—the oliphaunts—as we had feared," he reported. "It is true that numerous horses with empty saddles were seen galloping o'er the field at the conclusion of the battle, and at first it was believed that their Riders had been struck down by our foes. But in truth, many had been thrown by horses driven mad with fear of the oliphaunts, and not a few of these Riders had survived and continued the fight on foot." Here Éomer grimaced a little. Legolas suspected that it was normally considered shameful for a Rider to lose command of his horse, but he hoped that on this occasion the unfortunate Men might be excused their discomfiture. Even Aragorn's horse Brego might have run wild if he had encountered an oliphaunt, and Legolas was glad that the stallion had remained on ship in company with Arod, the Elf's steed.

Prince Imrahil was able to give a similar report of the soldiers of Gondor. In the confusion, Men had been swept from their posts, and when the captains had first attempted to tally what was left of their commands, many had been accounted lost. But as the hours had passed, troops began to trickle back to their units.

"So it seems that our situation is not as dire as it was first thought," Gandalf observed.

"True," conceded Éomer, "but we do not have enough warriors to succeed in a frontal assault upon Mordor."

"But we do not need to succeed in a frontal assault," Legolas reminded him. "We only need to draw Sauron's attention away from the plains of Gorgoroth."

Nodding his understanding, Éomer offered those of his troops that were in the main unharmed and pledged to lead them himself. Prince Imrahil likewise vowed to lead his own Men into battle, leaving only those necessary to defend Minas Tirith against renegades and raiders who might try to take advantage of the damage to the City's walls.

Their plans having been made, the Council adjourned once more, and word was sent to the captains to ready their Men to march within the next several days. Legolas went in search of Gimli, who had been absent from this second meeting. Expecting that the Dwarf would be at the forge, he went straight to that place. There he found Gimli in company with Will, who was excitedly trying out his new sword. Gimli, who preferred wielding an axe to a sword, had demonstrated a few moves to the boy, but Legolas stepped in and, as Gimli would later grudgingly admit, demonstrated those moves more creditably, as well as several others.

"I will practice three hours a day and become a great swordsman," the lad promised earnestly when Legolas and Gimli at last bade him farewell. "Ah, I almost forgot," said Gimli, pausing at the door. The Dwarf rummaged about in his pouch. "Found it," he said triumphantly, pulling out a medallion. He held it up, and it shone golden in the light from the fire that was always burning in the forge. Legolas took it and looked at it. He raised his eyebrows when he saw the design. "A death's head?" he said questioningly. Gimli shrugged. "That boy there will deal death to pirates," he replied. "Death's head seems fitting. Suits his destiny."

Legolas shook his head a little but handed the medallion to the boy, who swiftly found a cord and hung it around his neck.

"Now you be sure that no sea monster gets aholt of you," teased Gimli. "I hear tell that there be beasties out there that have more arms than you can count."

"What do you know of the sea?" protested Legolas.

"As much as you do," retorted Gimli. "You've never seen it, remember?"

"But I shall someday," Legolas said softly.

He turned to the boy. "It may be that you and I shall meet again, for someday I shall sail upon the Great Ocean. Our paths may yet cross."

"I should like that, Master Elf," the boy said enthusiastically.

"_I_ shouldn't," Gimli muttered under his breath. "Durn fool Elf will run off and get into trouble, that's what. Probably will sail straight into the maw of that beastie. Be better if he kept his feet planted on the ground—or stuck to one of his trees, leastways."

And telling himself that he was only concerned for the welfare of the 'durn fool Elf', Gimli followed Legolas from the forge.


	37. Chapter 37: Brothers to the Depths

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**The story of Elrohir becoming trapped in a cave by a rock fall is adapted from "Confessions."**

**Thanks to the following reviewers: **_**Ilada'Jefiv,**__** The Inebriated Lion-Minion**__**, punkballet, nightshade468, foxgurl0000, Telcontar Rulz, Starlight9, Elfinabottle, windwraith, CAH, **_**and**_** Apsenniel**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Lord of the Rings.**_

**Beta Reader:**_**Dragonfly**_**, who continues to take time out of a very busy schedule to check over each chapter. Thank you, **_**Dragonfly**_

**Chapter 37: Brothers to the Depths**

"Are you certain that you wish to remain here, Gimli?" asked Legolas. "You would be quite welcome to accompany me whilst I visit with my foster brothers."

Gimli shook his head. "I do not doubt you, lad, but you ought to be allowed time with your kinfolk without my tagging along. Those twins—Elradon and Elhiro, in't it?—shouldn't have to entertain me when all they must desire is to hear tell how you have fared these past several weeks."

"It's Elladan and Elrohir," said Legolas, smiling, "and it is very kind of you to forgo my company so that I may visit with them."

"Oh, I thought the sacrifice consisted of my forgoing _their_ company," deadpanned Gimli, "for it is no sacrifice to forgo_yours_."

Legolas swiftly seized a barm cake and hurled it at the Dwarf, who nimbly caught it. "Why, thankee, lad," he chortled as he took a bite of the roll. He reached for a mug of ale and saluted the Elf with it. "Now, you run along. I am sure I shall be able to entertain myself in your absence. Just toss me another one of those, will you?"

Legolas huffed in mock indignation but threw Gimli another roll before striding from the tent. "Legolas," someone hailed him before he had gone many steps. The Elf turned to see Éomer. The Man had a broad smile upon his face, an expression he had not often sported during the time the Elf had known him (one noteworthy exception, of course, having been the night he had tried to get Legolas drunk).

"Have you seen Aragorn?" the Rider asked. "I have not thanked him properly for his kindness toward my sister."

"He is standing vigil at Halbarad's burial mound," said Legolas, suddenly sober.

Éomer grew grave as well. "I am sorry," he said solemnly. "I had forgotten that when Aragorn cured my kinswoman, he did so with the knowledge that his own kinsman lay dead upon the field of battle."

"No one has been left untouched during this season of grief," Legolas pointed out. "You yourself have lost both cousin and uncle. But let us think not of the lost but of the living. Éowyn grows stronger, is that not so?"

Éomer's smile returned. "Aye, Legolas." Then his smile faltered, "Although she is much graver than formerly. Once she smiled rarely; now she does not smile at all." The Man hesitated and then continued. "Legolas, she sorrows because she loves a Man who feels affection and respect for her but does not, I think, love her—at least not in the way that she wishes to be loved."

Stung, Legolas opened his mouth to reply, but Éomer prevented him. "Nay, Legolas," the Man said, "I do not blame your friend. Feelings cannot be forced. Moreover," the Rider continued, "I have had an opportunity to speak with your kinsmen, the Lords Elladan and Elrohir. They tell me that Aragorn's banner was sewn by their sister, the Lady Arwen. Great love went into the sewing of that banner—and not, I believe, the love of a sister for her brother. Is this not true?"

"It is true," Legolas acknowledged. "Aragorn grew up in the company of Elladan and Elrohir, and toward them he feels as does a brother. Arwen, however, was away, being fostered in the land of her grandparents. When the two met, Aragorn was already a young Man, and the love he feels for her has always been the love of a suitor rather than a brother. I am sorry that his affection for Arwen should be the cause of the pain that your sister feels."

Éomer shook his head. "Her grief began long before Aragorn's arrival at Edoras. I had hoped, though—." Here he broke off, a wistful expression upon his face. "It is no matter," he continued briskly after a moment. "Perhaps in time my sister shall find another path that will lead to contentment." For a moment Éomer made a show of looking Legolas up and down appraisingly, and then he laughed. "No, I think not. Éowyn grew up amongst folk who appreciate a good stout beer!"

Legolas joined in the laughter. "Perhaps Gimli, then," he jested. "_He_ appreciates a good stout beer."

"Éowyn is a woman of Rohan," Éomer rejoined lightly, "so whomever she marries must be an excellent rider. Whatever Gimli's virtues, riding is not one of them."

"True," laughed Legolas. "When it comes to horses, Gimli has distinguished himself only by the frequency with which he has fallen off!"

The Man and the Elf shared another laugh and then parted, Éomer striding toward the mound that marked Halbarad's resting place and Legolas making his way toward the tent that had been pitched for Elrohir and Elladan.

"Mae govannen," chorused the twins when Legolas pushed back the cloth that covered the entrance to the tent. They arose and embraced their foster-brother. Then all three Elves flung themselves down upon the furs that covered the packed earth and began to exchange news. First the twins told Legolas of the Orc sorties that the Imladris Elves had been beating back since shortly after the departure of the Fellowship.

"A few days after you left," Elrohir reported, "the first Orc scouts penetrated our borders. They were larger and more monstrous than any Orcs we had ever seen. Even Glorfindel had never seen their like."

"They were Uruk-hai,' Legolas explained. "They were bred by Saruman, at first because he thought he might raise an army the rival of Sauron's, later because he hoped that he might at least be numbered amongst the allies of a Force he thought could not be defeated."

"Uruk-hai," repeated Elrohir. "These Uruk-hai," he continued, "probed our defenses repeatedly for a fortnight. Then they abruptly abandoned the effort."

"A fortnight," mused Legolas. "That would be about the time that the Crebain spies flew over our camp in Hollin. Saruman must have thought that the Ring was still in Rivendell, but after those creatures reported back to him, he drew his troops from the environs of Imladris and sent them south in pursuit of us. Were the Uruk-hai accompanied by any wolves?"

"Aye, they were," Elrohir said, "but not ordinary ones. One night I brought down several with my bow, but in the morning I found no trace of them. Only my arrows remained."

Legolas nodded in comprehension. "We encountered the same sort of fell wolves," he explained. "They attacked our camp near the Gates of Moria and were one of the reasons that we felt it necessary to enter that place. But go on with your tale."

"For four weeks there were no further attacks upon our borders," Elrohir continued, "but then they began anew. Only this time we were attacked not by Uruk-hai but by the Orcs we have been accustomed to fending off through the ages—not that they aren't bad enough!"

Legolas considered. "By then we would have defeated Saruman's forces at Helm's Deep. Any Uruk-hai not slain outright in that battle were devoured by Huorns as they fled the battle."

"Huorns?" said Elrohir.

"Aye, certain of the trees in the keeping of the Onodrim."

"Onodrim!" marveled Elladan. "I thought those tree shepherds had died out—or so Erestor told us."

"In this one matter Erestor was mistaken," replied Legolas. "Although," he added, grinning, "it is possible he told us the Onodrim had died out so that we wouldn't go looking for them. Their wooded realm would have been a perilous one for an elfling to visit, for some of the Huorns are not able to distinguish between Orcs and others of those who go about upon two legs! However, whatever Erestor's reasons for telling us the contrary, the Onodrim or Ents are still the guardians of the trees of Fangorn, and they marshaled such of the trees as could move. Some they marched to Isengard, and some to Helm's Deep. By the by, we have Pippin and Merry to thank for the fact that the Ents decided to join forces with Man, Elf, and Dwarf."

"Mithrandir has ever said that the least amongst us may prove as important as the greatest," observed Elladan.

"As to that," said Elrohir, "I see that a Dwarf is still numbered amongst the Fellowship. Have his feats been larger than his dimensions?"

"Yes," Legolas replied proudly. "The Nauga has proved the truth of Mithrandir's words not only once but repeatedly! I don't know what we should have done without Gimli. I don't know what _I_ should have done without Gimli."

The eyebrows of Elrond's twin sons shot up so abruptly that Legolas burst out laughing. "Come now," he said as he finally recovered himself. "Elladan, Elrohir, surely you don't think that Elrond and Mithrandir would have permitted Gimli to join the Fellowship if they had not been persuaded of his worth. I did not understand this at the outset, but I understand it now. In all our time together, I have seen Gimli quail only once. Oddly, it was when we had to enter a cavern."

Swiftly Legolas told the tale of the Paths of the Dead. Elrohir shuddered a little as he listened to the story, for he could sympathize with the Dwarf's fear. "I have descended twice into caverns, and both times turned out badly," he observed after Legolas had recounted the dreadful passage beneath the mountain inhabited by the army of the dead. "Legolas, do you remember the time when I ventured into a cave and became trapped by a rock fall?"

"I was trapped that day as well," Legolas said dryly, "but by an oath rather than by rocks. Elladan," he continued, turning to that brother, "you were away visiting Lothlórien, but I believe you have heard part of this tale before. Now, however, I shall tell it in full. Elrohir and I went exploring after a long period of heavy rainfall. As soon as we left the Hall, we saw that our world had changed. Trees had been uprooted, their roots unable to hold fast in the rain-softened soil. Boulders had become dislodged and had tumbled down the mountainside. We came across several new streams, and the channels of others had shifted. When we reached the Bruinen, we saw that its bed had altered. Some sandbars had disappeared, others had grown or diminished in size, and some new sandbars had been created. But what fascinated Elrohir the most was a hill whose side had been sheered off by a landslide, for a hole could be seen leading into what was left of the mound. Elrohir was overjoyed at this discovery. He insisted that we ought to explore it at once, arguing that since its entrance had been only newly exposed, it was unlikely to be inhabited by Trolls. I, on the other hand, argued that there were dangers other than Trolls to be found in the deep places of the earth. He laughed at me and stubbornly repeated that the cave has been sealed. And then _I_ said—."

"Yes, yes," grumbled Elrohir, interrupting him. "You said that it might have another entrance and that fell creatures may have gotten in that way. But," he concluded triumphantly, "we never did find any sign of such creatures."

"True," Legolas retorted coolly, "but you may also recall that I warned you of the danger of getting lost. I was proved right, wasn't I?"

"No, you weren't," Elrohir retorted. "I did not become lost."

Legolas laughed. "Perhaps you did not become _lost_, but it is certain that you were _misplaced_."

Elrohir grinned and subsided, and Legolas continued the tale. "The next day we retraced our steps to the site of the landslide. Elrohir had brought a torch, and he again insisted that we should explore the cave. He lit the torch and took several steps into the cave. I reluctantly followed and came to stand by his side. In the wavering light of the torch, I could see that one long passageway descended far into the earth and that there were many side passageways. It was just the sort of cave that could swallow up an elfling or two. I became more convinced than ever that descending into that cave would be a dreadful mistake, and I told Elrohir that I was not going to do it."

Elladan nodded approvingly. "I should have done the same," he declared a trifle smugly. This pronouncement nettled Elrohir. "You are just like Haldir," he complained, "stuffy and staid and—." He stopped, appalled at what he was saying. Legolas had told him of the fall of Haldir at Helm's Deep.

"I am sorry, Legolas," he said contritely.

"You mustn't feel sorry, Elrohir," Legolas said quickly. "Haldir_was_ stuffy and staid on occasion, and if we speak of who he was and what he was, then that must be part of the conversation. The alternative is not to speak of him at all, and I for one am not willing to forgo such a pleasant pastime."

"Pleasant," exclaimed Elladan, surprised.

"Yes, pleasant," Legolas insisted. He found himself repeating the words that Gimli had spoken when Legolas and the Dwarf had both believed Aragorn dead. "When you cherish someone," he explained to the twins, "you form memories worth saving. When I learned that Haldir had fallen, at first I struggled with my sorrow. Now, though, when I think of him, I smile, for it is the memories that fill my mind and not the sorrow. Those memories are like a warmth that spreads throughout my entire body. My brothers, think of the taste and smell of fresh, warm bread. My memories of Haldir are equally as pleasant and revivifying."

"Like the taste and smell of bread?" said Elladan.

"Aye, fresh, warm bread. I am filled and comforted."

The twins considered. At last Elladan nodded, his face thoughtful. "I believe you are right," he said softly. "When my Naneth departed, I did not think I would ever smile again. Now when I think of her, warmth spreads throughout my body, and I feel contentment—even joy."

Elrohir nodded, too, but he could not speak what was in his heart. Instead he cleared his throat. "Aren't you going to finish the story, Legolas," he said off-handedly. Legolas was not fooled by his manner, however, and smiled fondly at him before resuming the tale.

"Once I told Elrohir that I would not join him in exploring the cave," he continued, "I hoped that he would abandon the quest. Ai! Elrohir was as stubborn then as he is now!"

This brought a smile to all three faces and even a soft chuckle from Elrohir. Gladdened, Legolas went on with the story.

"'_You_ may be afraid', Elrohir bragged to me, 'but _I_ am not'. No doubt he hoped to goad me into accompanying him, but I refused to rise to the bait. I turned about and retreated from the cave, stopping when I was several feet away to look back at Elrohir, who scowled at me."

"'Anomen', he said, 'if you tell anyone that I am in the cave, I will never forgive you for orcing on me'."

"'When have you known me to be a tattletale?' I exclaimed indignantly. Elrohir was not satisfied, however, and insisted that I swear not to tell anyone that he had gone into the cave. I gave him my word, and he raised his torch and ventured further into the cave, leaving me lingering at the entrance. Long I waited. The noon hour came, and I unwrapped my lunch but found I had no appetite. 'The torch has surely burnt out by now', I thought to myself. 'But perhaps Elrohir is very close to the entrance and so will be guided back by the light that shines in through the opening'. I peered hopefully in at the entrance of the cave for a long while, but I saw no sign of Elrohir."

"'Perhaps', I thought, 'if I should shout that would bring him back to the entrance'.

'Elrohir', I called. His name echoed from the walls of the cavern, and again and again I called, but I neither heard nor saw any sign that Elrohir was near. At length it was mid-afternoon, and I reluctantly set out for the Hall. As I walked, I wondered what to do, for I had sworn to Elrohir that I would not tell anyone that he was in the cave."

"I came to a pond and knelt by it, meaning to splash water upon my face, for the day had grown hot. I peered into the smooth surface of the pond and saw my reflection staring back wide-eyed."

"'You can't orc on Elrohir', I seemed to hear my reflection say. 'Everyone will think you did it to get him in trouble!'"

"'But he may be lost!' I replied."

"'But what if he's not?' my reflection argued back. 'Then you will have told for nothing—or worse! He will get in trouble, and he will be angry with you'."

"'But what if he _is_ lost?' I insisted."

"'What will it matter if you wait a little longer?' my reflection answered slyly. I argued in return that his plight might worsen the longer he remained in the cave, but my reflection retorted that the mere passage of time would not worsen his plight. This I would not allow, however, and I replied that his plight might indeed worsen if he were in danger or hurt. For if a person is injured, it is always best that the wound be attended to sooner rather than later."

The twins both nodded in grave agreement.

"Still my reflection would not give way," Legolas continued. "He pointed out that it was by no means certain that Elrohir was injured. But for this I had a ready answer. I averred that I did not know that Elrohir was _not_ injured and that greater harm would result if he were injured and I said nothing than if he were uninjured and I told Ada he was in the cave. Better to risk the lesser than the greater harm, I argued."

"My reflection tried one last argument. 'Pah!' he snorted. 'Elrohir is the one who got himself into trouble. Why should you get into trouble as well? For you know that if you orc on him, you will have to admit going into the cave yourself'."

"'I'm not listening', I exclaimed desperately, holding my hands over my ears. In fact, however, I had just been provided the key toward solving my dilemma."

"'It's true: I went into the cave, too', I said to myself. 'I can confess my _own_ misdeed, can't I?'"

"In point of fact, I had only ventured a few feet into the cave, but_technically_ I had done wrong and therefore I had something to report to Elrond. I had sworn only not to tell anyone that _Elrohir_ had gone into the cave. I had said nothing about not telling on_myself_."

"Relieved, I hurried straight to Rivendell and made my way to Elrond's private chamber, where I commenced to 'confess'."

"'Ada', I declared, 'I have been very wicked today'. You may be sure that his eyebrows twitched at this unusual proclamation!"

Elrohir and Elladan laughed appreciatively. As elflings, they and Legolas had expended much effort on fashioning creative ways to avoid owning up to their transgressions, a fact with which Elrond was well acquainted.

"Elrond," continued Legolas, "managed to control his countenance—save for his eyebrows, of course—and calmly replied that 'wicked' was a very strong word. I assured him that when he heard what I had done, he would agree that my behavior had been very bad. He told me to say on, and he would judge whether or not that were so. I told him that I had gone into a cavern, an enormous one with many chambers. It was, I hastened to add, the sort of cave an elfling could get lost in. He allowed as how that would indeed be a serious transgression if the cave were as vast as I claimed it to be. I eagerly offered to show it to him. We stayed only long enough for Elrond to gather such things as might be needful. Then we mounted up, and swiftly I led Elrond to the cave. Elrond dismounted and looked at the soil at the entrance to the cave. He saw two pairs of elfling footprints leading in, one slightly smaller than the other. The smaller set advanced a few feet and returned. The larger one continued on. 'Well', Elrond said calmly, 'you have proved that there is a cave, but as to whether it is a vast one, I will have to venture in to be sure of that'. He told me to remain with the horses, instructing me to hurry back to the Hall to summon help if he had not returned by sundown. Then he opened his pack and pulled out a torch and a long skein of yarn. I could see that there were several more torches and skeins still in the pack. He shrugged the pack back on and tied the end of the yarn to a bush hard by the entrance to the cave. Then, torch in one hand and skein in the other, he disappeared into the cave."

"I knelt by the entrance, watching for the reappearance of the torch. The sun dropped lower and lower in the west, and I had begun to think that I would have to ride for the Hall when finally I spotted a distant flicker of light. It grew brighter and brighter and at last I could make out Elrond's figure, with a largish bundle slung over his shoulder. When Elrond drew even nearer, I saw that the bundle had hair and was in fact Elrohir."

"Elrond came out into the dwindling sunlight and carefully laid his burden down next to the bush. Elrohir winced and clutched at his ankle as his father lowered him to the ground. His face was quite dirty, except for those places where tears had cut trails through the grime."

Elrohir took up the tale then. "I remember well Ada's words to you then, Legolas. 'You were quite right, Anomen', he said. 'It is indeed a vast cavern. It seems you were not the only one to be drawn to it. As you see, whilst I was exploring one of the passageways, I stumbled upon Elrohir. Lucky thing, too, for some rocks had fallen from the ceiling and pinned his leg to the floor. It is fortunate you went into the cave and then thought better of your behavior and so came to me to confess your misdeed. Had you not, I would never have come across your brother'."

Legolas looked swiftly at Elrohir, as he had done so many years earlier, and as before the younger Elf saw a look of gratitude upon the face of the older one. "I got off much better than I deserved," Elrohir went on. "My leg was not broken, although Ada splinted the ankle as a precaution. Then he put me on Legolas's horse and lifted Legolas up behind me. Legolas, I remember you reassuring Ada that you could bear my weight, for I was sitting awkwardly on account of my ankle, and I found that it helped if I could lean back. Then Ada mounted his own horse, and at a gentle pace he led us back to the Hall, where, as Ada pointed out, for the next several days I was to suffer a punishment of my own making. For the weather had turned fine and the days were sunny and warm: perfect for swimming and riding and shooting and wrestling. But I was forced to forego these pursuits on account of my ankle. Ada could not have hit upon a more suitable penalty!"

The three Elves laughed at that observation. Then Elrohir halted. "Legolas," he said abruptly, "I never properly thanked you for what you did that day."

"Oh, but you did," Legolas assured him, "and at least twice. Elrond told me what transpired when it came time to mete out punishment for our escapade. He went into your chamber where you lay with your leg propped upon a pillow. You must have known from his grave face that judgment was in the offing, and Elrond says that you spoke up quickly. You told Elrond that even though I confessed to entering the cave, I really hadn't. You declared that you were the only one who truly went into the cave, and you begged him not to punish me. Elrond told me that he knew from the footprints that I had not gone into the cave, but I am glad you told him anyway. I was touched that you should try to keep me out of trouble, for at that time we did not always get along."

Elrohir looked a little shamefaced at that last observation, and Elladan spoke up then, smoothing over the moment of awkwardness. "Legolas, you said that Elrohir thanked you at least twice. In what other fashion did he thank you?"

Legolas smiled at the memory. "Elrohir whittled in order to while away the hours he was forced to spend in his chamber. Elladan, do you remember the bird he carved for you and the horse for Arwen?"

Elladan nodded.

"They were fine pieces of work," Legolas continued, "but nothing as to the boat he made for me."

Elladan's face lit up. "Oh, yes," he enthused. "That boat was a marvel. It was carved in such great detail that every plank was delineated, and Elrohir sewed a tiny sail for it out of a scrap of cloth and devised tiny tackle for the thread that he used to rig the vessel. Had it been scaled up in size, it would have been as worthy to sail the Great Sea as any of Cirdan's vessels in the harbor of Mithlond. Legolas, what ever happened to that boat?"

"I still have it," Legolas replied. "It is in my wardrobe at the Great Hall in Mirkwood along with others of such objects as I treasure."

Elrohir colored a little but grinned, too. Then Elladan spoke again, reminiscing about another scrape that his brothers had gotten into. "I myself was present the second time you went into a cave, Elrohir," he reminded his twin.

Elrohir sobered at once at the memory of this second incident. "I nearly drowned," he began somberly. Then he stopped suddenly and gazed expectantly at the entrance of the tent. Within the space of a moment, the tent flap was pushed aside and Aragorn stepped into the pavilion. His face was flushed, and his eyes glinted in the candlelight. When he spoke, his voice was low yet filled with a suppressed excitement that was mirrored in his movements, which were spare and yet bespoke an energy that sought an outlet long denied.

"Everything is settled," he said. "Everything. Three days hence we depart for Mordor. Before the Black Gate, the End will come to pass." Then he turned abruptly and strode from the tent.

Behind him, his three friends sat silently for a time. Elrohir was the first to stir. He lifted his hands, placing one upon Legolas's shoulder, the other upon Elladan's. "Muindyr nín," he said simply. _My brothers_.


	38. Chapter 38: Misdirections

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**The incident in which Gandalf misleads the Orc interrogator is recounted in Chapter 2 of the story "Number Nine."**

**Thanks to the following reviewers: stormchaser34neo, Ne'ith5, **_**Ilada'Jefiv, The Inebriated Lion-Minion, Telcontar Rulz, Starlight9, Elfinabottle, and CAH**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Lord of the Rings.**_

**Beta Reader: **_**Dragonfly**_

**Chapter 38: Misdirection**

"I don't see why I can't go," Merry said unhappily. "I have some weakness in one arm, but I can wield a sword with the other." Merry raised his uninjured arm and brandished his 'sword'—which to a Man would have appeared to be nothing other than a large knife. Legolas shook his head. "You are not the only one must remain, Merry," he pointed out gently. "Faramir has begged that he be permitted to join the riding, but Aragorn denied his appeal. Éowyn, too, wishes to take up arms again and has been refused." The Elf smiled. "Those two are of a piece," he laughed. Suddenly he grew thoughtful. "Those two _are_ of a piece," he murmured. Aloud, he addressed Merry again. "Both Faramir and Éowyn are restless. I imagine they spend much time walking in the garden, as that is the only outlet for their restlessness."

"Yes," said Merry, "they do, although not at the same time. Faramir walks in the garden in the morning, and Éowyn in the afternoon."

"Indeed," said Legolas, a mischievous look upon his face. "Merry, beg Éowyn to walk with you in the garden tomorrow morning—but be sure you find some reason to break your engagement!"

A grin o'erspread Merry's face. "I catch your drift, Legolas. That is a game Pippin and I used to play in the Shire. I will never forget the night we decoyed Sam and Rosie Cotton into the same garden! Sam drubbed us both afterwards, but Rosie treated the two of us to free beer for a week!"

Legolas laughed. "I cannot promise you free beer, Merry, but you will receive much thanks ere the end, I warrant."

Taking his leave of the Hobbit, Legolas went down to the smithy, where he found Gimli forging a throwing axe to replace one that had become hopelessly embedded in the brain of a Troll. Legolas pretended to find fault. "Gimli, was it not careless of you to lose your weapon?" The Dwarf scowled. "Only a bit of the handle stuck out, and it was too slick for me to get a purchase on. What was I supposed to do? Get a spade and dig it out? How many of your arrows are left, by the by?"

Legolas had to concede that some of the shafts had broken off in the bodies of his foes.

"Thought so," chortled Gimli. "Actually, I knew so." He pointed to a slender package on a work bench. "I was here when the smith fashioned those. In fact, I would have you know _I_ forged some of the points. Therefore, when you count your fallen foes, in some cases you will in fact be counting _my_ fallen foes. Hah!"

Legolas crossed over to the bench and unwrapped the package of arrows. He held several up and studied their tips. At last he nodded approvingly. "Gimli, these arrowheads are well made. Henceforth, I must indeed acknowledge that my conquests are yours."

Gimli suddenly looked a little uneasy. "I hope that don't mean you shall cease numbering your fallen foes. It gives a battle some interest to know that we shall be comparing counts at the end."

Legolas succeeded in looking solemn save for the quirk of one eyebrow. "If you wish me to continue keeping count, I shall certainly do so."

"Yes, I wish it," exclaimed the Dwarf. "Otherwise, it's just slay a Troll, move on, slay a Troll, move on. Very monotonous. Nothing like a little competition to spice up a skirmish—even though I always win, of course."

Legolas nodded. "Let the game continue, then. Now, however, let us go to Aragorn's pavilion. The meal is laid on."

The two friends walked out onto the Pelennor, where Aragorn was still encamped in a tent, refusing all invitations to take up quarters in the City. It was a moot point now, of course, as they would set out tomorrow on their march to Mordor. This night, Aragorn had invited friends and allies to eat together at table. For those departing for Mordor, it would be the last meal that they would eat in comfort for many a day. For some, it might be the last meal they would ever eat at table.

When Legolas entered the tent, he saw Faramir sitting beside Merry and Pippin. On the other side of the Hobbits two seats sat empty, and the Elf steered Gimli toward them. The Elf took the seat beside Merry. Legolas picked a few pieces of fruit from a platter, and then he began to draw out Merry. "My friend," he said to his seatmate, "I have heard a little of your exploits in the late battle, but I would hear more. Your even being at the battle, there is a tale behind that, is there not?"

"Yes, for Théoden forbade my coming. He said my pony could not keep up with the warriors' steeds."

"So you had an excuse to remain behind without loss of honor, yet you did not grasp it. You are brave."

Merry blushed. "Not as brave as Dernhelm—I mean Éowyn."

Out of the corner of his eye, Legolas noticed Faramir turning toward them and listening with a little more interest than he had hitherto shown in any of the conversations taking place about the table.

"Tell me more about this Dernhelm," Legolas encouraged.

"I was standing miserably, watching Théoden's Men ride off, when Dernhelm offered to allow me to ride with him—her, I mean. Oh, hang it all: Éowyn offered to allow me to ride with her. Only I didn't know it was Éowyn. I thought it was Dernhelm until the minute she took off her helm as she stood before the Ringwraith."

"She is much slighter than any Man," Legolas observed.

"True, but several of Théoden's warriors were little more than boys. At any rate, had she not been so slight, she could not have taken me up with her. The two of us together weighed scarcely more than one warrior full grown."

Legolas nodded. "So you rode with her all the way from Dunharrow to the Pelennor?"

"Aye, and a grim journey it was. Éowyn was no comfort, you may be sure. Legolas, you may not give my words credence, but I think she rode so that she might die by the side of her uncle. I do not think she reckoned she would survive the battle."

"I do not find such a notion difficult to believe," Legolas replied. "Elves may fade from grief. Men, too, may lose the desire to live, and I suppose they may throw themselves heedlessly into battle and thus like a fading Elf find the means to depart a life that has become joyless."

Faramir looked exceedingly thoughtful. A servant refilled his wine cup, and Denethor's son took it in his hand, but instead of drinking from it, he stared into the vessel as if he were gazing into Galadriel's mirror. Legolas arose and went to stand by his chair.

"My Lord Faramir, may I make bold to address you? I am desirous of thanking you for the kindness that you have shown Gandalf over the years."

"You are a friend of the Grey Pilgrim?"

"For many years he was my mentor."

Faramir smiled a little, but the gesture was tinged with sadness. "So you are a wizard's pupil," he said.

"Yes," Legolas said simply.

"I have been called that," Faramir said wryly, "and it was no compliment."

"Whatsoever others may think of the epithet, I have always welcomed it. Gandalf was as good as a father to me at a time when my own father could not be."

"Then you and I have something in common," Faramir said softly.

"Is that so?" Legolas said. "As that is the case, you and I must share speech when I return from Mordor."

Faramir looked skeptical. "When you return from Mordor? How can you entertain such a notion?"

"Hope has brought me this far. I see no reason to despair now." Legolas raised his cup. "I see you still have wine in your goblet. Let us toast to the success of the armies of Gondor and Rohan."

Faramir raised his own cup. "Success to the armies of Gondor and Rohan," he repeated, and there was a glint in his eye that had not been there at the beginning of the meal. "I look forward to our continued conversation, Prince Legolas of Mirkwood," he continued. "Stay well."

"I shall endeavor to do so," said Legolas. With a slight bow, he returned to his seat.

Éomer had been watching this exchange with interest. "Faramir," he called, "I see that toasts are now in order. We each of us must propose one in turn."

"I know what you are about, Éomer," Legolas protested, laughing. "You are going to try to drink Faramir under the table. I have not forgotten the trick you tried to play upon me at Edoras."

"Since that day," retorted Éomer, "I have been trying to account for your success at that game. You drank great quantities of stout beer, yet aside from some tingling in your fingers, you seemed unaffected. And you are slender when compared to a Man of Rohan. However did you manage to remain on your feet?"

"Centuries of practice," Legolas replied with a grin. He nodded in the direction of Elrohir and Elladan. "My foster-brothers are older than I, and in their company I have been inured through much practice to the effects of alcohol."

In response, Elrohir and Elladan raised their cups in a salute to their younger brother and then downed them at one go. Gandalf rolled his eyes and groaned, then rose to his feet.

"Gentlemen, tomorrow we set out at dawn. I have no desire to ride with an aching head, a foul stomach, and scurfy teeth, and I will therefore retire for the night. May I suggest that the rest of you do likewise?"

"I do not set out at dawn," Faramir murmured unhappily. Merry overheard him. "Neither do I, my Lord," he said quickly, "but I shall arise early in the morning to farewell my friends. Will you do so as well?"

"Aye, I will."

"And then no doubt you shall walk in the garden, as is your wont."

"Yes, I believe I shall."

"You wouldn't mind company, would you?"

"No, I should not object," Faramir said distractedly.

"Excellent! Good night, then, my Lord."

"You neglected to say _whose_ company," Legolas whispered to Merry as they made their way from the pavilion. Merry grinned. "I have been told," the Perian boasted, "that I have the knack of saying just enough to allow people to think whate'er they will. Saves me the effort of lying—safer for the skin, too, for I am always able to point out that I have said nothing but the truth."

Gandalf overheard the two. "Legolas, too, has cultivated that talent," he grumbled.

"Oh, and you have not?" shot back Legolas. "I seem to remember your bragging how you had managed to say everything and nothing to an Orc who was interrogating you when you went on an ill-fated expedition to Minas Morgul.

Gandalf chuckled. "Well, well," he said complacently, "perhaps I did tell such a story."

"Will you tell it now?" Pippin asked eagerly. During his time with Gandalf, the young Hobbit had become a great admirer of the wizard. They had arrived at Gandalf's quarters by now, and the Maia ensconced himself upon an armed chair as if it were a throne. He lit his pipe, and between puffs he told the tale.

"As Legolas has said," he commenced, "I was captured near Minas Morgul and taken before the chief of the Orcs. 'Here, you', he said, 'what's yer name?' 'Iôn Penion', I replied. 'Iôn son of Pen'. That is as much to say, Son Son of Somebody. Of course, the Orc didn't know Sindarin. So he replied, 'Pen? Never heard of him. Who is he?' and I answered, 'Oh, just Somebody. Nobody in particular, really'. Then the Orc said, 'And you, are you anybody in particular?' To which I was able to reply, 'No, just Somebody's Son'."

Hobbit, Dwarf, and Elf alike chuckled. "What then, Gandalf?" Pippin asked eagerly.

"Next," continued the wizard, "he asked me where I lived. To which I replied, 'Oh, Síahennas', that is, 'here and there'. The Orc said he had never heard of any such place, and I told him that was not surprising, as it was nowhere in particular."

Pippin and Merry giggled, and Gimli guffawed. Legolas, however, who had at first laughed with the others, had grown thoughtful as Gandalf had gone on with his story. 'It must be true', he thought to himself, 'that Gandalf is the son of _somebody_? But who? And when did he leave his father? Was he raised by him, or was he, like me, fostered? Does his father still live? Does Gandalf ever see him? Would he want to if he could?' So engrossed was Legolas in these thoughts that he did not hear his friends taking their leave. "Legolas!" Gimli finally bellowed. "Where _are_ you? You are certainly not _here_!" Legolas looked up and saw Gandalf looked at him knowingly. "Oh, sí ah ennas," said Legolas lightly, trying to cover his confusion. His friends laughed. Gandalf, however, continued his keen study of the Elf, and Legolas lowered his head to hide the flush that spread o'er his face.

"Well, I am off to the House of Healing," Merry announced.

"Be sure to give our greetings to Lady Éowyn," Legolas reminded him, pleased to have the attention of his friends diverted to a new topic.

"Oh, I will," promised Merry, giving Legolas a wink.

Bidding the others goodnight, Gimli and Legolas made their way to their tent. "Gimli," Legolas said as they walked, "have you ever wondered where Gandalf came from?"

"No," said Gimli cheerfully.

"Never?"

"Never."

"Well, has it never occurred to you that he must have had a father?"

"No."

"Nor a mother?"

"No."

"Gimli, how can you be so incurious!?"

"Tell me, lad, is Gandalf likely to tell you about his father?"

"No," conceded Legolas.

"Is he likely to tell you about his mother?"

"No."

"Well, durn it, Legolas, it don't make no sense to be curious about something you can't learn nothing about. Waste of energy what could be put to better purpose!"

"You are, as ever, practical, my friend," Legolas replied dryly.

"Why, thankee, lad," Gimli replied grandly, making an exaggerated bow. He pretended not to hear the sarcasm in the Elf's voice. By now they had arrived at their tent and prepared to take their rest. "May be the last time we enjoy such comfortable beds," Gimli observed matter-of-factly as he doffed his surcoat. "Skinny Elf," he added, which was his invariable observation whenever he saw Legolas remove his tunic.

"Hairy Dwarf," Legolas promptly returned.

Having concluded the evening's ritual, the two friends wrapped themselves in their blankets and fell asleep. Gimli's sleep was undisturbed, but into Legolas's toddled an endless succession of infant Gandalfs. Each sported a miniature beard, wielded a tiny staff, and puffed upon a miniature pipe. Legolas sought in vain to descry the adult who seemed to hover over this infant Istar, but each time the Elf was close to making him out, the baby wizard would emit a puff of smoke and the mysterious figure would vanish into the cloud. When the Elf arose in the morning, he was unhappily no nearer to solving the mystery of Mithrandir than he had been when he lay down to sleep. However, for the time being the Sinda would have to put aside his curiosity, for matters of greater import were now to occupy his thoughts.


	39. Chapter 39: Something Gold

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers: **_**Dragonsofliberty**_**, **_**Ilada'Jefiv, Sarah, The Inebriated Lion-Minion, Telcontar Rulz, Starlight9, Here To Annoy, Elfinabottle, vectis, RumorUnderOath, and CAH**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Lord of the Rings.**_

**Beta Reader: **_**Dragonfly**_

**Chapter 39: Something Gold**

The landscape was dreary, as it had been from the moment of their departure from Minas Tirith. Outside the hastily repaired gates of the City had stretched a battlefield stained brown with the blood of Men and black with the blood of Orcs. Formerly a grassland, it now lacked even the smallest touch of green, all vegetation having been crushed beneath the hooves of horses and the broad feet of Mûmakil. Gazing upon the wasteland, Legolas had wondered whether any thing would ever again grow in that desolate place. It was a question he asked anew when the army reached Osgiliath, whose environs had suffered so dreadfully under Orc occupation. And as they trekked northward from Osgiliath, toward the Morannon, the Black Gate that defended the pass of Cirith Gorgor, Legolas had sought repeatedly for some sign of renewal, some evidence that life would flourish again in the waste that Gondor had become.

It is true that they met with trees when they reached the Cross-roads beyond Osgiliath, and that trees populated Ithilien. Yet this region of Gondor east of the Anduin had long suffered under the oppression of the Nazgûl, and the trees, rather than answering the call of Legolas's spirit, remained watchful and wary. Their dun-colored leaves curled in upon themselves; and the limbs of these trees, rather than reaching towards the sun, hugged their trunks protectively. The few branches that were uplifted put Legolas in mind of arms raised in an attempt to ward off a blow.

Perhaps it was the evil influence of the Mountains of Shadow, the Ephel Dúath, which from the east gazed grimly down upon the land. 'Green things hide from the malevolence of those mountains', Legolas said to himself. 'The blade of grass dares not come forth from the ground, the fern fears to unfurl its fronds, and the flower will not seed, for it knows its efforts will be fruitless'.

As Legolas brooded, he was interrupted by Gimli. "I spy something gold," the Dwarf suddenly declared.

"I don't want to play that game," Legolas murmured unhappily.

"I really do spy something gold," Gimli protested.

Legolas sighed. "The gold thread on that banner yonder," he said mechanically.

"No. On the ground. There."

Legolas glanced to one side and then reined in his horse and dismounted in one smooth motion. Behind him, Gimli dropped from the horse, grunting as his feet struck heavily upon the ground. He squatted by Legolas, who knelt upon the earth and carefully removed a dead leaf that had half covered a tiny yellow flower.

"I have the eyes of an eagle," Gimli proclaimed proudly.

Legolas grinned at him. "Aye, you do, my friend." He extended a forefinger and gently touched a petal. Then he picked up several rocks and placed them in a circle around the flower. There were many horses and foot soldiers yet to pass, and the Elf did not wish this flower that had escaped the boots of Orcs to be crushed by the feet of Men. As the Elf worked, Éomer reached them and reined in his horse, looking down curiously. "What do you there, Legolas?" the Man called.

"He is safeguarding a golden treasure," Gimli called back. "I spied it," the Dwarf added, beaming.

Smiling and shaking his head, Éomer flicked his reins and rode on. Legolas and Gimli arose. Gimli brushed the dirt from his knees. Legolas's leggings were, of course, free of dirt. Gimli glanced at the Elf's legs and grimaced. "Still don't know how you manage that," the Dwarf muttered. "Uncanny, that's what I call it."

Humming, Legolas swung himself atop Arod and then reached down to help Gimli mount. They rejoined the column, cantering to catch up with Aragorn and Gandalf. "Le hannon, mellon-nín," Legolas said at last. _Thank you, my friend_.

"Gell-nín. Gelir na thaed," Gimli answered cheerfully. _My pleasure. Happy to help_.

Legolas chuckled. "Gimli! I did not know you spoke Sindarin."

"Pedin edhellen," Gimli said proudly. _I speak Elvish_. "The twins have been teaching me phrases," he added. "The next time ever I see the Lady Galadriel, I shall be able to address her properly. Listen! Gîl síla erin lû govaded vîn." _A star shines over the time of our meeting_.

"That is very good, Gimli."

"You think so? What do you think of this line, then? Le i velethril cuil nín._"_

Legolas blanched. "Gimli! That means, 'You are the love of my life.' That is not a line you can address to the Lady!"

"It means that? That's not what Elrohir told me."

"Take anything Elrohir tells you with a grain of salt—nay, with an entire salt cellar!"

"What about this, then? Melin tiriad chin gîn calar ir gladhach."

"It means 'I love to see your eyes shine when you laugh'."

"It does? Well, that would be alright, wouldn't it?"

"Gimli, I fear that line would be most properly uttered by a husband or a lover."

The Dwarf sighed. "I suppose nothing I say would be worthy of the Lady," he lamented.

"Indeed, nothing you say _would_ be worthy of the Lady—for you may say nothing and yet be understood. Galadriel can look into a person's heart, Gimli. You need deliver no oration."

Legolas could hear the relief in Gimli's voice. "You think so, Legolas? You Elves set such stock in fine words, I was sure I should be shamed if I could not speechify like that Elrond fellow."

Legolas laughed. "Oh, Elrond is not exceptionally eloquent as Elves go. He simply has uncommonly fluent eyebrows."

"Well," Gimli said hopefully, "_my_ eyebrows are bushier than _his_."

"Doubtless," Legolas said dryly. Then he checked his horse, for Aragorn had ordered a halt. "We camp here," the Dúnadan called as he rode past them to survey the column and give orders for its disposition. Legolas twisted in his seat to offer his hand to Gimli, who gratefully accepted it so that he might brake his descent from the horse. Once on solid ground, the Dwarf stamped his feet to restore the circulation to his legs. "Wretched means of getting about," he grumbled. "Now, a cart—that's pleasant enough, for you have a proper bench to sit upon. These durned horses, though, they offer insult to some body parts what are very important."

"Odd that _my_ body parts suffer no injury," Legolas observed.

"Mayhap because those body parts of yours are not as significant on you as they are on me," Gimli muttered.

Legolas pretended not to hear the Dwarf. 'Strange' he thought, 'how both Dwarves and Men are so obsessed with the generative organs. I suppose it is because their women give birth far more often than our ellyth do. They must therefore be in the habit of paying close attention to the workings of those parts of the bodies that are involved in the bringing forth of the next generation'.

Legolas's meditations were interrupted by the arrival of Pippin, who bore a camp kettle full of water. The Elf looked doubtfully at the vessel. "Are you sure the water is good, Pippin?" The Hobbit nodded. "It comes from a spring. Moss grows thereabouts, and whilst I watched, a bird took a bit of the water in its beak. Gandalf was by, and he said that even Orcs must have water, and so, although they do not care whether their water be fresh, they do not deliberately poison the sources."

Legolas nodded. "True. In any event, we have very nearly run out of water. If we drink this, we may or may not die of it, but if we do not drink it, we will surely perish."

"Not that it matters," grumbled Gimli, "as we are meant to die in the end."

"Perhaps," replied Legolas. "But," he continued, "the longer we stay alive, the longer our presence will trouble the mind of the Enemy." He took the camp kettle from Pippin and raised it to his lips.

"Stop!" cried Gimli. He seized the kettle from Legolas's hand. "Let me drink first," he demanded. "Like as not the water is good. Ne'ertheless, if anything should happen to you, I should be left with a horse that I cannot ride and so would be a burden to my fellows. If _I_ should die, however, you may ride on and be of use to the company. It is therefore right that I should assay the water first."

Gandalf had drawn near as Gimli spoke, and the wizard suddenly suffered a severe fit of coughing. The Dwarf stared suspiciously at him. "Pipe smoke," the Istar said apologetically. Behind Gimli's back, Pippin and Legolas exchanged knowing glances. Gimli would never confess how attached he had grown to Legolas, but, as he had just demonstrated, he would risk death to safeguard 'his' Elf. 'I hope', Legolas thought ruefully, 'that I do not give him occasion to risk himself on the field of battle, but like as not I shall'.

Gimli swallowed several mouthfuls of water. Then he handed the kettle to Legolas. "Not bad, as water goes. Wouldn't want to rely upon it in the long run—but we probably won't have to worry about the long run." Gandalf stared balefully at Gimli, who had been making such cheerful pronouncements ever since they had ridden away from Minas Tirith. Legolas, however, ignored his words, having had much practice in doing so. Instead, he rejoiced at the discovery of potable water. They had refilled their water skins when they passed by a tributary of the Anduin near the road that led to Cair Andros, and they had hoped that that water would suffice for the remainder of their journey. But the nearer they drew to the Morannon, the hotter it became; and no matter how sparingly they drank, until the discovery of this spring their stock of water had proved barely adequate.

"This place drains a body," Éomer had observed to Legolas as they sat before a cook fire the night before. The Man had taken a sip from his water skin and now weighed it in his hand. It was nearly empty.

The Elf agreed. "Aye, this land drains the body—and the soul as well. For our thirst is not altogether of the body."

Éomer looked about and nodded. "This place puts me in mind of the path leading through the Dimholt to the Dark Door. A dread lies over the land, and our path leads to Death."

"The path through the Dimholt led not only to death but to victory," Legolas reminded him.

Éomer laughed grimly. "At the end of our path, no Army of the Dead lies waiting for an opportunity to redeem itself, Legolas. No wraiths will battle on our behalf. Death will be our foe and not our ally."

"We will deal death, and so it will be our ally," Legolas said serenely.

Éomer snorted. "Come now, Legolas, I have seen doubt cross your face when you think no one is looking."

"I do not deny it," Legolas conceded. "But then I remind myself that it was Gandalf who counseled this course of action—and Gandalf, like Aragorn, has never led me astray."

"So you believe that we may prevail—you do not merely put on a show of certainty for the benefit of Pippin and Gimli?"

Legolas laughed. "Gimli needs no show on my part to shore up his spirits. He would walk cheerfully into the maw of a balrog itself. Yes, I can see it now. 'Hello, beastie', he would chortle as he flung himself into its teeth."

Éomer joined in his laughter. "I believe you are right," he chuckled. "Gimli would shrug at the approach of death and throw himself into taking as many of the enemy with him as he could."

At that moment, the Dwarf under discussion stomped toward the fire. He was beaming as he plunked himself down beside Legolas. "Beer," he announced.

"Beer?" said Legolas.

"Aye," replied Gimli. He opened his pack and drew out a tiny wooden cask. "Packed this for an emergency. Well, I've run out of water. That's an emergency."

The Dwarf drew a small metal rod from his pouch and before the amused eyes of his friends he proceeded to tap the little keg. "I won't offer _you_ any," he said to Legolas, "because I know if you had your druthers you would perish of thirst before drinking beer. As to Éomer, however, I am in his debt for the great quantities of brew that I drank at his expense whilst at Edoras."

That set both Éomer and Legolas to laughing. "I don't suppose you actually _remember_ drinking any of that beer," Legolas twitted the Dwarf.

"I remember drinking _some_ of it," Gimli replied defensively.

Éomer arose, still laughing. "Gimli," he smiled, "I appreciate your offer, but I would not deprive you of beer that you have been at such trouble to carry for so long a distance."

"If you are sure."

"I am." Still amused, Éomer strode away from the fire, leaving behind a Dwarf impressed at his generosity. "Well," Gimli declared. "Éomer has proved to be quite the gentleman. Not what I would have expected from someone who threatened to cut off my head at our first meeting." He turned to Legolas. "I was joking, lad, when I said I wouldn't share my beer with you. Here." He proffered the cask. Legolas shook his head. "No, Gimli, I still have a little water left."

"I shall leave you some," Gimli declared. "You can drink it later."

"You drink it, Gimli. It will only go flat, and it would be a shame to waste good beer."

"Aha!" crowed Gimli. "You called it 'good beer'. So you _do_ after all have some sense in that head of yours, even if it _is_ decorated with those ridiculous pointy ears."

Legolas couldn't help it. He rolled his eyes.

"Legolas, wake up!"

Legolas jerked upright. He had fallen asleep whilst thinking of his conversation with Gimli the night before. Now his friend knelt on the ground beside him.

"The army prepares to ride, Legolas."

The Elf looked about. It was dark, but he knew that it was morning, the light of the sun having been hidden by the machinations of the Enemy. Before him Pippin sat crosslegged. The Hobbit looked solemn. "Legolas, Gandalf says that today we shall stand before the Black Gate of Mordor." Pippin took a deep breath. "I hope I shall behave as bravely as Merry did before the Gate of Minas Tirith."

"Gandalf tells me that you have already behaved as bravely as Merry."

"He said that?"

"Aye, he has spoken of it several times."

Pippin sat up straighter. His hand went to the sheath gifted him by Galadriel.

"I ride with Gandalf," he said, "but I do not wish to be a burden."

"You could never be a burden, Pippin."

"He's too light to be a burden," broke in Gimli, trying to inject a little levity into the conversation. Pippin grinned and arose. "I am just a rag-tag daggling at Gandalf's tail," he said, quoting an insult that Saruman had flung at him after the Ents had laid waste to Isengard.

"A rag tag with a knife," Legolas reminded him. "Now betake yourself to your riding companion, for, see, the banners are raised."

Standing by their horse, Legolas and Gimli broke fast and drank a little water before mounting. Beside them, silently, rode Elrohir and Elladan. A little behind them were Éomer and Imrahil, the Prince of Dol Amroth. Slightly ahead of them were Aragorn and Gandalf, with Pippin perched behind the wizard. No sounds were heard save the hoof beats of horses and the footfalls of Men. On every side, sharp pinnacles of rock arose, as if the very earth opposed their passage. Legolas was reminded again of the approach to the Dark Door of the Dwimorberg. Gradually, however, the ground grew flat as the passed the northernmost peaks of the Ephel Dúath. Once clear of the Mountains of Shadow, the army turned east and then pivoted so they were facing southward, looking toward the point where the Ered Lithui, the Ashen Mountains, met the Mountains of Shadow. "Where those mountain ranges meet," Elrohir observed, "is a gap. A massive gate bridges the gap, its two halves opened by the efforts of Trolls who operate huge windlasses." Legolas glanced at his foster-brother in surprise.

"You are familiar with the defenses of Mordor?"

Elrohir smiled a little. "I know," he acknowledged, "it seemed as if I did all within my power to avoid studying the maps and diagrams that Erestor insisted we peruse. In truth, I learned more than I let on."

The two young Elves grinned at each other. Then Elrohir sobered. "Would that I might have an opportunity to tell Erestor that his teachings stood me in good stead," he said softly.

"For my part," Elladan said softly, "I wish that I might have the chance to tell Glorfindel that his archery lessons were not wasted on me."

Legolas closed his eyes and allowed his horse to pick its own path. Before him arose the faces of Thranduil, Elrond, Glorfindel, and Erestor. 'Edeir-nín, chín melon', he murmured. 'Edeir-nín, chín hannon'. _My fathers, I love you. My fathers, I thank you._

When Legolas opened his eyes, the company was no more than ten furlongs from the Black Gate. Aragorn raised his hand, and the column came to a halt, the foot soldiers and horsemen drawing themselves into compact squadrons. Aragorn, Imrahil, Éomer, and Gandalf huddled in a knot, taking counsel one last time. While they spoke, Legolas looked about at the soldiers of Gondor and of Rohan who silently awaited orders. They had never been many in number, but now, as they stood before the towering mountains that guarded Mordor, they seemed tiny toys meant to be playthings for a being careless of their welfare. 'These Men are a pitiful remnant of a once proud people', thought Legolas. 'Pitiful?' came a voice. 'These are folk who march willingly toward death, prepared to sacrifice themselves so that others may live. Such a folk are to be honored rather than pitied'.

'Galadriel!' Legolas cried silently. 'Do be sure that Thranduil and Elrond and Glorfindel and Erestor know how grateful I am to them. Do be sure that they know I love them—that I have always loved them'.

'Still as silly as any elfling', Galadriel scolded. 'It needs not me to tell them that! But if you are in doubt, send a messenger to inform them.'

''Tis an errand too important to trust to a messenger', cried Legolas.

'Then tell them yourself'.

Gimli's voice awoke Legolas from his reverie. "Legolas! Aragorn has finished speaking with the Captains. Look, he gestures that we are to draw nearer to the Gate."

The Army of the West marched toward the Gate until they were no more than a furlong from it. Before it stretched a bare expanse, the soil broken and trampled by the many Orcs that had passed that way en route to the siege of Minas Tirith—Orcs, Legolas thought with satisfaction, that had never returned to the land of their master. Still, for all the Orcs that had fallen at Minas Tirith, tens of thousands remained. "But they are here," Legolas reminded himself. "Here and not on the Plains of Gorgorath, where they would stand between Frodo and Mount Orodruin."

'No dínen!' commanded a voice in his head. _Be silent! _Legolas glanced over at Gandalf, who was frowning at him. Legolas winced and tried to clear all thoughts of the Ring from his mind. One never knew who might be listening here, so close to the sanctuary of the Dark Lord.

His mind emptied of all thought save of the battle to come, Legolas's attention was brought back to the Gate. Aragorn, although uncrowned, was acknowledged by all to be the leader, and now he urged his horse forward to challenge their hidden enemies. "Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth!" he proclaimed, his commanding voice echoing from the mountains before them. "Let justice be done upon him!" he declared.

In the silence that followed, Arod shied, and Legolas was at pains to calm him. "You are ill at ease," he said gently to his mount, "and you have cause. My spirits suffer as well in this place. But be patient. Sauron may toy with us a little while, but then he will tire of the game, and an end will be made of it, for good or for ill."

As if in reply to his words, a groaning sound was heard, and the Black Gate began to move upon its massive hinges. It opened wide enough to allow the passage of a horse, and then stopped. As all eyes gazed at the aperture, a specter materialized within it and passed through onto the plain.

Riding toward them was a creature swathed all in black, its head almost entirely hidden by a helmet that covered even its eyes. Only its mouth was visible, and Legolas stared at this orifice, both fascinated and repulsed by it. It appeared too large for the face that was presumably hidden beneath the helmet. Its yellow teeth were pointed like fangs and blackened by some substance—blood perhaps. Most horrible were the lips. They were cracked and fissured, and a gray froth exuded from the suppurating wounds. Legolas tried not to shudder, for he did not wish to communicate his distress to his horse. He felt Gimli clutch him hard around the waist, and he knew that the Dwarf, too, was unsettled.

The apparition rode to within two yards of them and stopped. Eyeless though he was, he seemed to survey them scornfully.

"Is there any in this rout with authority to treat with me?" the Mouth sneered, the wounds in his lips opening and closing as he spoke.

Gandalf urged Shadowfax forward until he was knee to knee with his enemy, and Legolas lifted his chin proudly as his mentor spoke with boldness and dignity. "We did not come here to waste words in treating with Sauron, faithless and accursed; still less with one of his slaves," the Istar pronounced disdainfully.

The Mouth turned his eyeless face toward the wizard. "So! Then thou art the spokesman, old greybeard! I have tokens I was bidden to show to thee."

Legolas now saw that a bundle rested upon the horse's pommel, and from this bundle Sauron's servant drew something that glimmered even in the hazy light of the smoke-laden air. He held it up, and Pippin cried out at the sight of Frodo's mithril shirt.

"Silence!" commanded Gandalf.

The Mouth laughed mockingly and tossed the mithril-mail into Gandalf's face. The wizard caught it but looked at it only briefly before handing it to Pippin, through whose hands the liquid links gently poured.

The Mouth laughed again and held up two other tokens for them to see: Sam's sword and a Lórien cloak, the leaf-shaped brooch still attached. This time Pippin managed to remain silent, but Legolas saw that the Perian's hand had gone to the hilt of his blade. Behind Legolas, Gimli shifted his weight, and Legolas knew that the Dwarf had loosened one of the axes he bore in his belt.

The mouth was speaking again, confidently outlining terms. If they were not met, great torment was to befall a captive spy from the little rat-land of the Shire. At these words, Pippin grasped his blade even more tightly, and Legolas heard the Dwarf growl at his ear.

Gandalf gazed steadily at the hidden eyes of his foe. Legolas had seen the wizard's eyes flicker momentarily with fear and grief when the Mouth had held up the mithril shirt, but now the wizard spoke with great calmness. He seized the cloak and the sword from the surprised hand of Sauron's servant. "These we will take in memory of our friend," he declared. "Now get you gone, for your embassy is over and death is near to you."

Gandalf reined his horse and returned to his friends. The Mouth remained speechless for a moment. Then he perceived Aragorn.

"And who is this?" he mocked. "Isildur's heir? It needs more to make a King than a piece of elvish glass and a blade cobbled together out of broken bits."

Aragorn spurred his horse toward Sauron's servant, and his hand went to the Sword Reforged. For a moment Legolas imagined the head of the Mouth of Sauron rolling in the dust at their feet. But Aragorn checked himself. He was no Orc, and to the end he would behave as one of the Free Folk. Free Folk did not strike down unarmed ambassadors, even ones in the service of the Dark Lord. Instead, like Gandalf he drew knee to knee with his foe and stared steadily at the hidden eyes. The Mouth fell silent in the face of his grim gaze, and Sauron's servant began to back up his horse. Suddenly he wrenched the horse's head about and fled. As he galloped, he blew a horn whose discordant wailing was answered by horns sounded from Carchost and Narchost, the Towers of the Teeth that stood to either side of the Black Gate.

"I guess that concludes negotiations," grunted Gimli, hefting his axe.

As the Mouth had ridden toward the Morannon, it had resumed its motion, and by the time he reached it, the Black Gate was fully open. The Mouth galloped within, and their foes began to stream forth.


	40. Chapter 40: One End and a Beginning

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**When Pippin refers to 'football', he has in mind something similar to what Americans call 'soccer'.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers: **_**Dragonsofliberty, Jasta Elf, windwraith**_**, **_**Ilada'Jefiv, Foxgurl0000, vectis, obsessed elf, The Inebriated Lion-Minion, Elfinabottle, milou8, RumorUnderOath, and CAH**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Lord of the Rings.**_

**Beta Reader: **_**Dragonfly**_

**Chapter 40: One End and the Beginning of Another?**

As the Army of the West watched silently, hordes of Orcs scuttled toward them, and amongst them shambled Trolls bearing huge maces. Legolas was certain that their numbers exceeded those of the horde that had attacked Helm's Deep. The Elf looked toward Aragorn. He expected that the Dúnadan would signal a counterattack, for there was nothing to be gained by waiting. Aragorn looked grim but resolute. His Men, however, were fearful, and some looked as if they would cast aside their weapons and flee. First the Dúnadan had to rally them. "Hold your ground! Hold your ground!" Aragorn commanded as they wavered. The ranks steadied, and Aragorn ordered those with horses to dismount and send their steeds to the rear. Their numbers were too few for a cavalry charge to be effective, and they would not have the element of surprise that they had at Helm's Deep when their Orc besiegers expected anything but an attack by riders issuing forth from the battered fortress. Here, before the Black Gate, riders would soon be surrounded and pulled from their mounts.

Aragorn, however, remained upon his own horse for a time, and he rode the length of the ranks and began to address the soldiers, one hand holding the reins, the other grasping Andúril. His words rose above the sound of the Orcs marching toward them. "Sons of Gondor, of Rohan—my brothers," his voice rang out. "I see it in your eyes, the same fear that would take the heart of me."

Brego reared a little, at one and the same time frightened and eager.

"A day may come," Aragorn continued, controlling his horse, "when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship—but it is not this day!"

Brego whinnied and tossed his head, but still Aragorn controlled him.

"An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the age of men comes crashing down," he proclaimed, "but it is not this day! This day we fight!"

Legolas looked toward the Men and saw their faces suffused with a light that could not have come from the sun that shown weakly through the reek. Many were now holding aloft their own weapons. He turned again toward his friend. Aragorn held his sword high.

"By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand! Men of the West!"

Brego reared back so far that Legolas marveled that Aragorn kept his seat, but still the Man held aloft his sword, controlling the horse with but one hand. All of the Men now likewise brandished their weapons. Legolas remembered Théoden's words before Helm's Deep, when it had seemed impossible that the fortress should hold out against the superior force that threatened it. "If this is to be our end," Théoden had vowed, "then I would have them make such an end as to be worthy of remembrance." Legolas knew that Aragorn must have made the same resolution. They would make an end worthy of song. Perhaps no one would be alive to compose the poem, but what mattered was not that it be written, but that it be deserved.

Aragorn dismounted and sent his horse to the rear. Gimli glanced sideways at Legolas. "Never thought I'd die fighting side by side with an elf," he observed thoughtfully. Legolas looked down at his friend and smiled. "What about side by side with a friend?" he asked. "Aye. I could do that," Gimli answered softly. The Dwarf gripped his axe firmly. "Now where has that Pippin gotten himself to," he growled. Legolas looked about.

"There he is, near Gandalf." The young Hobbit had drawn his sword and was flexing his arm. He looked frightened but determined.

"Near Gandalf?" said Gimli. "That's good. Maybe the wizard will survive the battle. I hear Pippin had his back at Minas Tirith."

While Legolas and Gimli spoke lightly, as if the hordes of Sauron were not descending upon them, Aragorn had gone to stand a little in advance of his troops. Legolas and Gimli fell silent and watched. Legolas thought he heard a voice, a mellifluent one, sweeter even than Saruman's. He understood it to be one of the voices of Sauron, although he did not know how he knew this. He glanced at Gimli. The Dwarf gave no sign of hearing the voice; nor did the Men who stood nearby. But Aragorn, descendant of both Elda and Numenorean, heard it. "Aragorn," whispered the voice. "Elessar," it beckoned.

'Sauron would take more pleasure in corrupting Aragorn than killing him', Legolas thought to himself. 'No', he corrected. 'He would take more pleasure in corrupting Aragorn and then killing him, and he would take the greatest pleasure of all in forcing Gandalf to watch'.

It occurred to Legolas that the Dark Lord might also take pleasure in toying with a Prince of Mirkwood. 'And Elladan and Elrohir', he brooded. "To take the sons of Elrond would please him greatly'. Legolas glanced down worriedly at Gimli as the Dwarf stood oblivious to the beguiling voice. 'I hope', Legolas said to himself, 'that in the Eye of the Dark Lord Gimli is too insignificant to warrant any attention. If he is to die, let it be done quickly'.

Legolas lifted his eyes to gaze once more upon Aragorn. The Dúnadan had lowered his sword, and for a moment Legolas feared that the Man had been mesmerized by the Voice, as he had once very nearly been transfixed by the palantír of Orthanc. But then Aragorn glanced back over his shoulder and exchanged a meaningful glance with Gandalf. No, Aragorn was not transfixed but merely allowing the ranks of their foes to become more and more disordered as they swarmed forward without meeting resistance. Suddenly Aragorn raised Andúril. Springing forward, he shouted the command to attack. He was seconded by Pippin, who for several seconds followed valiantly at the Man's heels before he inevitably fell behind. "Fool Hobbit," growled the Dwarf. "He couldn't possibly have expected to keep up with someone so long-legged." Legolas had no chance to point out the obvious irony that Gimli was striving to keep pace with a long-legged Elf because at that moment the two armies crashed together and the two friends were driven apart.

For a little while the Army of the West fought off their attackers, for the Men and their allies fought with a discipline that answered their enemies' numbers. The Orcs flung themselves recklessly upon their foes but were unable to break their ranks. The Trolls might have made inroads, but the archers concentrated their fire upon these huge creatures and so Men were able to avoid closing with them.

But Sauron had more than Orcs and Trolls to send against them. Legolas and Elrond's sons were the first to know of the approach of the new threat. Legolas heard a high-pitched wail and swiftly looked toward Elrohir and Elladan, who fought together near the Mirkwood Elf. Elrohir caught Legolas's glance and nodded, glancing briefly at the sky. Soon everyone could see the threat: Nazgûls racing rapidly to battle from their lair at Minas Morgul.

'At least there are only eight of them', Legolas thought, remembering the Nazgûl felled by Éowyn on the field of the Pelennor. Still, though the beasts had lost their leader, their effect on Men was as devastating as it had been during earlier battles. Wherever the fell beasts swooped, soldiers dropped to their knees and flung their arms over their heads. Legolas, Elladan and Elrohir were immune to the terror, however. Seeing this, Men flocked to them and made their stand with the Elves in their midst. "We need to divide forces," shouted Elrohir, "each of us serving as a rallying point." Elladan and Legolas gestured their agreement. Legolas remained where he was. Elladan led a troop to the left, and Elrohir fought his way to the right, followed by Men of both Rohan and Gondor. Legolas spied similar pockets forming around Éomer's banner and the banner of the Prince of Dol Amroth, a sign that both Men still stood. The flag of the heir of Isildur remained upright as well, and the sight of it strengthened Legolas's determination to fight on. Aragorn still lived, and as long as he did, there was still hope. Then, too, from time to time Legolas caught sight of Gandalf striding across the battlefield. Wherever he came, their foes fell back.

'He cannot be everywhere at once', Legolas thought, 'but he is still Gandalf the White, and if anyone can stand against the Dark Lord, it is he'.

Both Gimli and Pippin were too short for Legolas to spy them over the heads of Men and Orcs. But from time to time the Elf heard Gimli roar, and when he looked in the direction of the sound, he saw Orcs staggering back from some hidden but powerful force. 'I have forgotten to count', the Elf laughed to himself, 'but I wager Gimli has not! But where is Pippin?' Suddenly the Elf heard the young Halfling's voice. "The Eagles are coming! The Eagles are coming!" the Perian cried. Legolas laughed aloud as Gwaihir the Wind Lord and his kinsmen stooped upon the Nazgûls and sent them tumbling beak over talon.

Then the laughter died in the Elf's throat. Aragorn's banner had gone down. Gesturing to the Men who surrounded him that they should make for Elrohir's banner, which was nearest, Legolas began to fight his way toward the spot where he had last seen the Dúnadan's pennant. Toward that same spot a Troll was rampaging. Suddenly there was a break in the roiling mass of combatants, and Legolas saw that the Troll was making straight for Aragorn, trampling even its allies in its single-minded pursuit of the heir of Gondor.

"Aragorn," shouted Legolas, slashing his way through a knot of Orcs. "Aragorn," he shouted again, the sound of his cry lost in the hubbub of battle. He pushed past a Man grappling with an Orc. "Aragorn!" With a thrust of a knife he brought down a foe that lunged at him from the side. By now the Troll had closed with the Dúnadan. The creature raised his mace and brought it down upon Aragorn's sword. The Man staggered back several steps but maintained his grip on Andúril. The Troll raised his weapon and again brought it down. Aragorn lost his grip both on his sword and his footing, falling to the ground with the sword just out of reach. The Troll lumbered forward and brought one great foot down upon Aragorn's chest. The weight of the Troll was forcing the breath from the Ranger's body, but enough remained to provide him with the strength to draw his knife and stab at the Troll's ankle. The beast roared and lifted his foot just enough for Aragorn to scramble away. He retrieved Andúril and pivoted to face his foe once more. The Troll raised his mace high above his head—and then froze. From beneath his feet came a rumble. All around him, Men and Orcs paused in their struggles. The ground began to undulate as if it were a live thing, and several Men were thrown to the ground. Even Legolas was forced to drop to one knee. Instinctively, the Elf looked toward Mount Orodruin. Ash and huge boulders were shooting from its summit, and as he watched, its slopes began to glow red. All around him Men were shouting "the Eye, the Eye!" Legolas turned to look at the distant Tower of Barad Dûr. The semblance of a great lidless eye had been suspended between the pinnacles of the Tower. Throughout the battle this apparition had gazed fixedly at its army of Orcs and Trolls. Now the pupil darted this way and that, coming at last to settle upon Mount Doom. Underneath the gaze of the Dark Lord, the rumbles intensified, and at last, with a mighty roar, the peak exploded. Simultaneously, the Tower of Barad Dûr swayed back and forth, and then its base crumbled. The entire edifice collapsed in upon itself, and the eye vanished in a plume of dust. At the same time, the Nazgûls, who had raced toward Mount Doom the moment their master realized that the Ring lay there, burst into flame and fell toward the earth. The only remnants of the fell creatures were the ashes that slowly drifted to the ground.

The Orcs and Trolls were now clustered together between the Army of the West and the Black Gate of Mordor. With their master gone, they had for the time being lost the will to fight, but they were fearful of passing through the Black Gate into their former sanctuary. As the Tower collapsed, a crevasse opened at its base, and like shattering ice, the gash grew, racing rapidly toward the spot where Sauron's former servants huddled. When it reached that spot, the chasm divided itself, circling around the Orcs and Trolls. 'The earth itself lies under an evil enchantment and will thus preserve our foes', Legolas thought disbelievingly. 'Even with Sauron gone, we will be forced to fight for our lives'.

In this one matter Legolas was wrong. Once the Orcs and Trolls were entirely ringed about by the chasm, the earth beneath their feet suddenly gave way, and an abyss swallowed the survivors of Sauron's army as surely as the forest of Huorns had swallowed the Uruk-hai who fled from the siege of the Hornburg.

With the Orcs and Trolls gone, the world suddenly fell still. Then the silence was broken by the sound of wings. Gwaihir alighted upon the body of a Troll. The Lord of the Eagles peered at the carnage all about him. Then he spread his wings and prepared to once again take flight. "Stay!" came a voice. "Stay, Gwaihir! I pray that you will bear me once more."

Gandalf pushed through a knot of soldiers who stood nervously regarding the great bird. "Will you bear me one last time, Gwaihir?" the wizard asked again.

Gwaihir pivoted his head and drew a feather through his beak, making a great show of considering as he preened. "You are stouter than you were the last time I bore you," he observed at last. "True," agreed Gandalf, "but to a great bird such as yourself I can be no burden."

"Your wit is as sharp as my beak," Gwaihir averred, "and my beak is very sharp indeed."

"The sharpness of your wit is in keeping with the keenness of your eyesight, the strength of your wings, and the largeness of your heart," Gandalf replied, bowing.

"Now I can hardly refuse you," observed Gwaihir, "lest I prove myself to be none of these." The eyes of the Wind Lord glinted with amusement and appreciation for Gandalf's shrewdness. He inclined his head to the wizard, who promptly climbed upon his back, settling himself securely between Gwaihir's wings. "Bear me to Mount Doom—or what is left of it," exclaimed Gandalf urgently. "And bear me swiftly, I pray you!"

"In a hurry, as ever," Gwaihir commented laconically. Spreading his wings, he took flight, and with him two of his kinsmen. Such was the power of their wings that the great birds raised a mighty whirlwind of dust as they arose above the trampled soil.

Gandalf having departed, Legolas turned his thoughts to those of his friends who were unaccounted for. Aragorn, he knew, was safe, and he trusted Elladan and Elrohir to seek each other out. He therefore began searching for Gimli. He had a fairly good idea of where the Dwarf would be, and straight he headed for a great heap of Orcs piled up in a circle. As he expected, walled in the center of the circle was Gimli, who stood gazing balefully at the bloody barricade. "Those carcasses are too slick to climb," the Dwarf grumbled when he saw Legolas peering over the top of the enclosure. "Help me shift some of these Orcs, will you." Legolas pulled and Gimli pushed at one of the topmost Orcs. After they had toppled that Orc and one other, Legolas looked about and spied a halberd, which he reached down to Gimli. Grasping the pole tightly, Gimli made shift to scramble out of the enclosure. "I have never seen such a fort before," Legolas said when the Dwarf stood beside him. "Truly a clever notion, to make a citadel of your foes." Gimli looked hard at the Elf. Legolas had a serious expression upon his face, but the Dwarf suspected that the Elf was twitting him. However, Gimli had other, more pressing concerns, and he quickly pushed the matter from his mind. "Where is Pippin?" he demanded.

If Legolas had not been serious before, he was serious now. "I do not know," he admitted. "Why aren't we looking for him, then?" growled Gimli. He gazed about anxiously. Nearby was the abyss into which their foes had plunged. "He'd better not have fallen into that chasm," worried the Dwarf.

Legolas shook his head. "He was nowhere near that portion of the battlefield," he said. He led Gimli to the spot where he had last heard Pippin's voice, and Dwarf and Elf began to methodically search the field. With them were many Men looking for their injured fellows and gathering together their dead for honorable burial. These Men ignored the injured Orcs who lay scattered about, but Legolas adjured them to release the Orcs from their pain. The Men did so, grudgingly at first, but grew in dignity as they tended to each foe, taking greater and greater care to put an end to their suffering swiftly and without adding to their pain. Impressed, Gimli paused briefly in their search for Pippin. "Do you know," he said thoughtfully. "I think the best measure of a person is how he treats his enemies. His friends and kinsmen he can be counted on to treat well, so it is only his behavior toward his foes that will reveal his true nature."

Legolas agreed with his friend. Then the two returned to the search for the Hobbit, trying to cover each inch of the battlefield. They were working outward from their starting point in a circular sweep.

It was Gimli who finally spied him—or his foot, rather. "There!" he cried excitedly. "Those toes! Furrier even than a Dwarf's toes, they are."

The toes in question were just visible poking out from underneath a Troll. Legolas hailed two Men who were nearby. With Gimli, they lifted the Troll's torso slightly so that Legolas was able to lay hold of the Hobbit's ankles and pull him out from underneath the carcass. Quickly Legolas checked Pippin's pulse. "He is alive," he reassured Gimli, who was tugging at his beard in his anxiety. "What of his injuries, Legolas? Are they mortal?" the Dwarf asked worriedly

The Elf searched Pippin's body. "He has suffered no wounds that I can see, Gimli. He has a knot on his head, and may have suffered a crushing injury from the Troll's weight. However, his pulse is very strong and his breathing unlabored, so I suspect he has suffered nothing worse than a concussion."

As if in confirmation of the Elf's words, Pippin groaned and his eyelids fluttered. "Pippin," called Gimli. "Pippin! Come back."

Pippin opened his eyes and looked up dazedly. "My head," he moaned. "I think an Orc must have played football with it."

"Rugby, I should think," said Gimli. "Much more violent than football, rugby is. A fellow who survives a rugby scrum will survive anything, my Da used to say."

Pippin groaned and tried to push himself up on his elbows. Gimli and Legolas hastened to help him, and once he was seated, Legolas offered him his water skin. "Only a little," the Elf warned. Pippin took a tiny sip and then looked about. "Our enemies are dead," he exclaimed in astonishment. "But that could only be possible if Frodo—Frodo has destroyed the Ring!"

"We think that must be so," Legolas agreed. "Gandalf has gone off to see to the truth of the matter."

"And he will find Frodo and Sam?" Pippin asked hopefully. Legolas hesitated and looked toward the spot where Mount Orodruin had once towered. Pippin followed his glance and cried out at the sight of the much-diminished peak. "What has happened to the mountain!?"

"In the midst of the battle," Legolas explained, "the forces of the Dark Lord suddenly quailed, as if their Master's will no longer drove them onward. At the same time, the ground began to tremble. All, friend and foe alike, looked to the mountain. Its top had been obscured by fumes, but as we watched the shroud was torn apart by blades of flame. Then the top of the mountain exploded, great blocks of stone tossed about as if they were no more substantial than a child's playthings."

Pippin wiped his eyes with his sleeve, trying to stave off tears. Legolas laid a comforting hand upon his shoulder. "We must not give up hope until Gandalf has returned," he advised. Pippin nodded but could not speak. He shivered, and Gimli draped his cloak over the Hobbit's shoulders and plunked himself down by his side. The Dwarf muttered words that Pippin judged were meant to be consoling, but the Perian could not make out what he said. The sound of speech was comforting, however. Legolas, meanwhile, gathered together bits of woods—broken spears and the shafts of axes, mainly—and contrived to build a small fire. As the three friends huddled about the fire, Elrohir and Elladan suddenly materialized. One of Elladan's hands was bandaged, and Elrohir had a strip of bloody cloth bound about his head. 'It gives him a jaunty appearance', Legolas thought wryly to himself. 'Trust Elrohir to make the best of an injury!'

As the band of friends waited for word of Sam and Frodo, they watched pavilions being raised for Aragorn, Éomer, and the Prince of Dol Amroth. "It looks like the field of the Pelennor all over again," Pippin observed. "True," said Legolas, "but after the Battle of the Pelennor, another battle loomed. Now we have fought it, the worst is over. We shall have to fight skirmishes, no doubt, but the Dark Lord has been destroyed."

"You don't suppose there could ever be another?" Pippin asked anxiously. "What if someone should forge another Ring?"

"I will not say that there will never be another Dark Lord," Legolas said slowly. "An evil has been destroyed, but Evil itself can not be driven from Arda. Such evil as may arise will not, however, be manifest in a ring, for the skill to forge such a ring is no longer owned by any save Aulë himself."

"Now that's a smith I should like to meet," Gimli observed enthusiastically. "I know he's an elvish sort of creature, but, well, that don't make no never mind."

The Elves burst into laughter. "How very noble of you," Legolas said ironically. "Why, of course," Gimli answered grandly. "We Dwarves are great-hearted—generous and magnanimous to a fault!" The Elves, joined by Pippin, laughed loudly, attracting the attention of Éomer, who was seeing to the welfare of his Men, who, like Legolas and his friends, were gathering around campfires. He addressed Legolas with a smile. "Friend, to me you were once an interloper to be feared; now I must confess that the sound of elven laughter is a music I shall miss when you return to your own land." With that, he bowed to Legolas and strode away.

Éomer's words gave Legolas pause. Return to his own land? But that would mean parting from Aragorn, and, he supposed, from Gimli, who would hardly wish to dwell in Mirkwood. Troubled by this notion, the Elf arose and walked several paces away from the campfire and his friends.

As Legolas stood brooding, he noticed three small specks in the sky. "Gandalf returns," he cried, all unpleasant thoughts instantly forgotten. Gimli leaped up and hurried to the side of the Elf. The Dwarf took a deep breath. "Is it too much to hope," he began and then stopped. "It has always been too much to hope," Legolas observed. "Yet time and again hope has survived unscathed."

"In any event, we shall soon know."

"Aye, Gimli." Legolas laid a hand on the shoulder of Pippin, who had joined them. Elladan and Elrohir had arisen as well, but they stayed back several paces. The initial reunion, if reunion there were, should be for the members of the Fellowship alone.

As the eagles drew nearer, Legolas descried Gandalf still perched between Gwaihir's wings. He saw no figures perched upon the backs of the other two eagles, but—wait—the talons of the eagles—yes, they clutched something in their talons!

Legolas, normally so self-possessed, for once found himself unable to stand still. Anxiously he shifted his weight from foot to foot. Gimli momentarily looked askance at the Elf, but almost immediately the Dwarf's attention was recaptured by the oncoming eagles. For now Gimli, too, saw that a bundle dangled from beneath each of Gwaihir's kinsmen—a Hobbit-sized bundle. Simultaneously, Pippin saw the bundles as well. He broke away from Legolas and ran forward. As the eagles alit, Pippin stumbled and pitched forward upon his face directly in front of Gwaihir. The great eagle studied him. "About the size of a sheep," he announced after a moment, "but not as plump. Will he fatten as he ages, Gandalf?"

"That one may not live long enough to age," harrumphed the wizard as he climbed down from Gwaihir's back. But he winked at Pippin as he spoke. The Hobbit scrambled to his feet and launched himself toward the inert forms of Sam and Frodo, who were splayed upon the ground several feet apart. He could not decide which one to see to first, so he settled for grabbing the wrist of one and the ankle of the other. "I don't know what good that does, young Master Took, your gripping each by the limb," Gandalf said gently. "If you will stand back a bit, Legolas and I may tend to their wounds."

Pippin beat a retreat even faster than his approach. From several feet away he watched as Gandalf knelt by Frodo and Legolas by Sam. Legolas called over his shoulder to Gimli and the twins. "Fetch as much water as folk can spare, and replenish the fire. I have clean clothes in my pack; fetch those as well." Gimli snorted as he loped off. "Figures he'd carry a change of clothes to the very Gate of Mordor," he muttered.

Whilst Gimli and the twins were fetching the necessary items, Aragorn strode up. He had seen the eagles land and knew what it might portend. He knelt by Frodo first and laid a hand upon his forehead. The Hobbit was in a sleep too deep to be natural, and Aragorn frowned. "He must be called back in the fashion of those who fell under the spell of the Black Breath."

"You are carrying athelas with you, I trust," Gandalf said. "As for myself, I have a little miruvor."

Aragorn nodded and looked over his shoulder. Gimli had just returned with an armful of wood. With him were Elladan, carrying a small cauldron filled with water, and Elrohir, in his arms bearing Legolas's spare clothes. "Gimli, build up the fire. Elladan, boil the water. Elrohir, tear those garments into strips."

Gimli looked swiftly at Legolas. Those garments, the Dwarf recognized, had been sewn by Legolas's belovéd Edwen Nana. The Elf, however, seemed unconcerned, and Gimli was moved by his friend's generosity. "Love ye, lad," he muttered. Fortunately for his dignity, no one heard—or if they did, no one let on.

Once the water was boiling, Aragorn cast two leaves of athelas into the cauldron. As the sweet aroma of kingsfoil hovered over the camp, Aragorn dipped some of the strips of cloth into the water and used them to lave the forehead and wrists of first Frodo and then Sam. Neither woke, but their sleep appeared to be a more natural one. Gandalf, meanwhile, used some of the cloths to bathe the Hobbits, reserving others to use as bandages. When Aragorn and Gandalf were finished, Frodo and Sam were clean and comfortable and breathing normally, and the movement of their eyeballs beneath their lids suggested that they dreamed. "That is all that can be expected at first," Gandalf observed. Aragorn nodded. "There is some water left," he said. "I must see to others who have been injured." Gandalf nodded and handed Aragorn his vial of miruvor. Accompanied by the twins, Aragorn made his way from campfire to campfire. At each one, soldiers eagerly tore such garments as were clean to make washcloths and bandages for their fellows.

Remaining with Frodo and Sam, Gandalf sat cross-legged between the two, chanting softly. Legolas, Gimli, and Pippin drew a little apart and sat talking quietly.

"I thought I was done for," Pippin said. "A great brute of a Troll came crashing down on me."

"Yes, and all that could be seen of you were your toes," Legolas observed. "You were very nearly o'erlooked."

"'Twas I who found you," Gimli announced. "I have—"

"—the eyes of an eagle," Legolas finished.

"Well, I do," Gimli said cheerfully. It seemed he would never tire of this joke; nor did Legolas want him to. The Elf wished to go on as formerly, with Gimli being exactly as he had always been.

As the sun set, Aragorn returned to them, preferring to sleep with his companions in the open air rather than in his tent. Looking around at his friends, Legolas marveled that of the company that set out from Rivendell, all save Boromir had survived the Ring Quest. Merry was safe in Minas Tirith, so out of the Nine Walkers, eight still lived. 'And soon', Legolas thought to himself, 'we will be reunited with Merry, and thus we will be as much of a Fellowship as ever we could be'. But then Legolas remembered what he had been thinking of earlier. 'The Fellowship has accomplished its goal and may soon disband', he thought soberly. He had grown fond of Frodo and Sam and Merry and Pippin. Especially, however, he was melancholy at the thought of being parted from Aragorn and Gimli, and he feared that Gandalf, now that his task was done, would be recalled to the regions from whence he came. Glad for the victory but sad at the thought of losing his friends, Legolas lay down next to Gimli and for a long time remained awake listening to the predictable and comforting sound that was his friend's snoring.


	41. Chapter 41: Legolas's Kingdom

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers: **_**Dragonsofliberty, Jasta Elf, Ilada'Jefiv, Foxgurl0000, vectis, obsessed elf, The Inebriated Lion-Minion, Elfinabottle, milou8, RumorUnderOath, and CAH**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Lord of the Rings.**_

**Beta Reader: **_**Dragonfly**_

**Chapter 41: Legolas's Kingdom**

The next morning came, but both Sam and Frodo slept on. "It would be better if we take them away from this place," Aragorn said to Gandalf. "Even though Sauron has been destroyed, Mordor still reeks from the fumes of his engines."

"True," agreed the wizard. "They should be conveyed at least as far as North Ithilien."

Aragorn gave orders that litters be constructed, and gently the sleeping Hobbits were laid upon them and carried with great care over the uneven ground. Beside the litters walked Pippin for a time, but he was still recovering from being trapped under the body of the Troll, and after a little while he tired and Gandalf took him up before him.

Since they were proceeding no faster than a Man could walk, Gimli at first insisted upon walking as well, but he soon discovered that he was so used to riding behind Legolas that walking no longer suited him.

Éomer came to ride beside Aragorn, and he nodded toward Gimli and Legolas as they rode together on Arod. "Aragorn, in the tales of my people, Elves and Dwarves are foes. How came Gimli and Legolas to be such good friends?"

Aragorn chuckled. "Only six months ago I would not have thought it possible, but they have taken a long journey, those two."

"They are of different races and yet are amicable," Éomer said thoughtfully. "Even their verbal sparring is a sign of their friendship. Their bantering reminds me of how my cousin and I used to chaff each other."

Éomer fell silent for a little while, remembering how his cousin Théodred had been slain through the treachery of Gríma Wormtongue. Then Legolas laughed at some quip of Gimli's. Éomer lifted his head. "Aragorn," he said thoughtfully, "the customs and languages of Men differ greatly. Worse, during these evil times, many Men were treacherous to their kind, allying themselves with Saruman or even Sauron. Yet as long as the friendship of Gimli and Legolas shall endure, I shall believe that Men may put aside their hatred of other Men. Surely if Elf and Dwarf may live in friendship, then Man and Man may live so."

Aragorn smiled. "Be sure that Gimli and Legolas will never give you cause to put aside that hope, Éomer. Legolas is generous of himself and quick to forgive those he counts as friends, and Gimli—Gimli is tenacious. Once having set his mind to something, he is not easily dissuaded from it. He has settled it in his mind that Legolas is his friend, and there's an end of it."

"I have no doubt that Gimli and Legolas will not disappoint me. I only hope that Men do not."

"For my part, Éomer, I will strive to do what I can to give Men every encouragement to live together in peace. I do not deceive myself that all Men may be motivated by friendship, but if that will not suffice, then gold will be the bait. I mean to show the Dunlendings and the Southrons and the Easterlings that it will be in their interest to trade with us rather than fight with us."

Now Gimli laughed heartily at some remark of Legolas's, and Éomer himself smiled briefly. Then he spoke earnestly. "Your plan is a wise one, my friend. It will not be easily effected, however. Those folk will be suspicious."

"True, and we must make every effort to allay their suspicion. To commence, before we left Minas Tirith, I gave orders that the Haradrim and Easterling prisoners be treated humanely. They were to be set to repairing the damage from the siege, but their rations were to be no less in amount and quality than those served to the Gondorians who also labored at that task. Nor were they to labor longer or harder than the Men of the City beside whom they would work. Moreover, they were to receive the same wages."

"I do not see," laughed Éomer, "why you call them prisoners at all."

"I believe," Aragorn said dryly, "that that is the point."

Éomer again laughed, as he did so reflecting with surprise at how often he had laughed that day. Nearby, Legolas was commenting upon this as well.

"I little expected the grim-faced Éomer to reign in laughter, but it seems that that shall be the case. I predict many joyful feasts in Edoras—much singing, much drinking, and much dwarf-tossing."

"Dwarf-tossing," roared Gimli. "Dwarf-tossing! I'll give you dwarf-tossing!" Gimli gave a sudden push, and Legolas found himself tumbling to the earth. "Hah!" crowed Gimli, but his exultation was short lived. Absent the Elf's restraining hand, Arod bolted, and with Gimli shouting frantically and clutching at his mane, it was not likely that the horse would slow down of his own accord.

"My pardon, Aragorn," chortled Éomer, "but I had best go catch that horse." He spurred his horse to a gallop and rode off in pursuit of Arod and Gimli.

Aragorn urged his own horse toward Legolas, who had arisen and was dusting himself off. "Are you well, my friend," called the Dúnadan.

"Aye, I am unharmed," Legolas called back.

Aragorn dismounted and walked alongside his friend. "I had thought you two joined at the hip," he jested, "but, see, Gimli has ridden off on his own." At once the Man was sorry for his words, for Legolas suddenly looked unhappy.

"Ni nûr, Legolas. Am man theled?" the Ranger asked. _You are sad, Legolas. For what reason?_

"I suppose," Legolas said slowly, "now the Quest is over, Gimli will return at once to Erebor." Aragorn shook his head. "No, Legolas. I have asked him to remain at least until the City is restored. "There is much to be done. Not only the outer walls but many inner ones were damaged in the barrage during the siege. Likewise, many houses were damaged or destroyed outright. There is much call for stonework, at which Dwarves excel. I have also asked him to superintend the forging of hinges and other metal fittings for many gates, including the City's main one. Gimli I cannot spare, and I shall write both his father and his king and tell them so."

Legolas still looked sad. "My father, however, shall expect my return. _I_ have no excuse to stay on."

"Not so, Legolas. The gardens in Minas Tirith were never very grand, and they have declined even from those days when they were at their best. Arwen will never flourish in a place so little green. Moreover, Ithilien has suffered greatly at the hands of the Orcs. They destroyed many trees, and the ones that survive are so cowed that they scarcely dare to unfurl their leaves or lift their branches toward the sun. They would benefit much from the ministrations of a wood-elf who might teach them to once again boldly take root. As one king to another, I shall write your father and beg that you be permitted to remain to tend to Ithilien and to restore the gardens of Minas Tirith and create new ones."

Legolas was smiling now. "Le hannon, mellon-nín," he said softly. _Thank you, my friend._

Just then Éomer rode up leading Arod, with Gimli still clinging to his back. The Dwarf looked a little pale, but as Éomer handed the reins to Legolas, he sat up straight and put on a show of bravado. "I hope you noticed, you pointy-eared princeling, that I kept my seat. On a galloping horse, too, mind you! Keep that in mind the next time you wish to cast aspersions upon my horsemanship!"

Legolas smiled and swung himself atop his horse as Gimli leaned back out of his way. Aragorn mounted Brego and cantered forward to ride alongside Imrahil, there to discuss conditions along the coasts of Anfalas and Belfalas. Éomer also rode forward in order to ride in company with Elladan and Elrohir. Legolas grinned as he saw Éomer and Elrohir deep in conversation and gesturing broadly. It looked as if the two had hit if off particularly well. 'Yes', Legolas thought to himself, 'the two are similar in character—bold and desirous of proving themselves against their foes. However, both have, I think, grown past the point of recklessness. A friendship between the two would be good for both our peoples'.

Legolas looked back over his shoulder. Gandalf was holding his horse to an amble so that he would just keep pace with Sam and Frodo's litter bearers. Pippin, his head lolling, sat dozing before the wizard, who had one arm wrapped protectively around his small charge. Legolas smiled fondly, remembering all the times that as an elfling he had been held by the wizard in similar fashion.

Legolas looked forward again just in time to see Aragorn raise his arm and call a halt. The Elf offered Gimli his hand so that the Dwarf might slide down from the horse more easily, and then he dismounted himself. The litter bearers came up and gently laid down Sam and Frodo, and Gandalf handed Pippin to Legolas, who laid him down beside his fellows without waking him. Then Legolas joined Gimli, who had gone into a nearby thicket to collect firewood. For a time, they talked lightly as they worked, but then Legolas suddenly froze. "Gimli," he whispered, "make ready your axe."

Gimli's hand went to his belt. They were in tight quarters, so the Dwarf drew one of his smaller axes. Legolas, meanwhile, had drawn the two matched blades that had been a gift from Elrond's sons. Now armed, the two friends waited silently.

With a wolfish howl, three Orcs broke cover and leaped at them. The foremost fell with Gimli's axe through his forehead, and the second clawed at his throat, from which protruded Legolas's blade. Legolas raised his second knife and prepared to close with the remaining Orc. Suddenly a spear flew by the Elf's head and buried itself in the Orc's chest. The Orc collapsed at Legolas's feet, and the Elf pivoted just in time to see Éomer emerging from behind a bush.

"I see," deadpanned Legolas, "that you have finally learned where to point that spear."

Éomer snorted at this reminder of his first meeting with the Elf. Then he went to the Orc, placed his foot on its chest, and jerked free the spear. Gimli and Legolas had meanwhile retrieved their own weapons. Éomer remained with them, warily scanning the brush, as Legolas and Gimli picked up their scattered firewood. Then they returned to the camp. Legolas and Gimli stayed to build a fire to warm the Hobbits whilst Éomer went to report to Aragorn. Soon the Dúnadan strode up. "Legolas, Gimli, you are both unharmed?"

"Aye, Aragorn," Legolas assured him. "'Twas only a few stray Orcs attacking in desperation."

"I fear," said Aragorn, "that when all the stray Orcs are tallied, they may number sufficient to be accounted an army. If will take us months to cleanse both North and South Ithilien. We must proceed with greater care."

Aragorn departed to set the watch. Legolas noticed that an especially large number of guards were posted near the fire that had been built for the Hobbits. "Rest," he urged Gimli, who was pacing back and forth clutching his large battleaxe. "The Hobbits will be well guarded."

"I don't see _you_ resting," Gimli pointed out.

"Look, I am lying down. See?" Legolas flung himself upon the grass, rolling up his cloak as a pillow. Grumbling, Gimli lowered himself to the ground. "It is not enough that you lie down, Legolas. I swear that I will not fall asleep unless you close your eyes," he grumbled.

Obligingly, Legolas closed his eyes and allowed himself to enter into a pleasant dream in which he wandered throughout Ithilien, stopping to whisper reassurances to trees that stood tall after he passed by. The Elf awoke only once during the night, when the guard was changed. He opened his eyes to see Éomer and Elrohir taking up positions side by side, the one holding his spear, the other with bow at the ready. Smiling, Legolas closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.

The next morning brought new counsel. Amongst the company were soldiers of Gondor who had served under Faramir when he had been assigned by his father to patrol Ithilien. One of these scouts offered to lead the company to a place little frequented by Orcs. "It is a region unfouled by their feet," he reported, "where there is pool that will provide ample water. Its water is quite fresh, too, for it is churned by a waterfall. By secret ways one can reach a cave behind this waterfall where the Periannath may lie safe from further attack."

"You speak of Henneth Annûn," Aragorn said.

The scout looked surprised. "You know of this place, my Lord?"

Aragorn nodded. "Aye, I visited Henneth Annûn, the Window of the Sunset, when in my young manhood I entered the service of Gondor. It was well hidden then and no doubt has been further camouflaged since."

"Aye, my Lord. My Lord Faramir strengthened its defenses, of which secrecy was always the foremost."

"If memory serve," Aragorn said, "there is a large field nearby."

"The Field of Cormallen, my Lord."

"That will be a suitable place for a bivouac. Once we reach Henneth Annûn, we will remain there until the Periannath awake. In the meanwhile, let messengers be sent to Minas Tirith to convey news of our victory and to summon such of the principle Men of the City as remained behind to see to the welfare of the people. Let the Perian Meriadoc also be summoned, if he be well enough to travel."

"Is it wise to leave the City leaderless?" Imrahil asked.

"It will not be leaderless," Aragorn answered. "I judge that by now Faramir will be strong enough to take on the responsibility of governance. If I have judged wrongly, then let the gentlefolk choose one among them to remain behind. But let the rest come."

After the scout had departed, Gandalf leaned toward Aragorn and murmured in his ear, "You are wise to show honor to the son of Denethor, late Steward of Gondor. Indeed, it is what I would have advised had I been asked."

"I crave pardon if I have slighted you, to whom I owe so much," Aragorn began.

"No! no! You mistake me, Aragorn. It is good that you did not ask me. It is no longer my place to give counsel. To do so would be neither needful nor proper. For you see, Aragorn, my purpose has been fulfilled—which was to have no purpose to speak of in this world of Men."

Overhearing these words, Legolas felt a rending in his chest and clutched at his heart. He bent over gasping, his face pale. At once Aragorn and Gandalf were by his side. "Mellon-nín," cried Aragorn, seizing the Elf by the shoulders and supporting him. "Man presta le!?" _My friend, what ails you!?_

"Let me walk with him," Gandalf said, gently extricating the stricken Elf from Aragorn's grasp. Supporting Legolas's weight, the Istar led him into a thicket, where he lowered the Elf onto the trunk of a fallen tree and then sat beside him.

"You have greatly alarmed Aragorn," said the wizard.

"Have I not alarmed you as well?" asked Legolas a trifle bitterly.

"No, because I know what ails you, and I know the cure," Gandalf replied calmly.

"What ails me?'

"You had better say it yourself."

"You will depart Arda, and soon, I think," Legolas said sadly.

"Aye, Legolas. My task completed, I have no reason to remain. I must return to the West."

"Am I not a reason?"

Gandalf's lips quirked with the trace of a smile.

"I have always told Elrond that you would never lose the elfling within. That is the elfling in you speaking now. Legolas, I would stay for you. But it is not permitted."

Gandalf still smiled, but as Legolas gazed appealingly upon the face of his friend and mentor, he saw sadness in the eyes of the old wizard. Suddenly Legolas forgot his own grief in his concern for his friend.

"Sauron could not be crueler," the Sinda cried. "You have struggled to save Arda and all its inhabitants, and you are not allowed to enjoy that which you have saved."

"Do not speak foolishness," Gandalf scolded. "Sauron would have taken pleasure in my fate. Do you think the Valar enjoy denying me Middle-earth?"

Legolas subsided. "Why then must you depart?" he whispered.

"Legolas, I am only a Maia, and regardless of what your hero-worship has led you to believe, I do not in fact know all there is to know. It may be that I must perform another task in some other place."

"Some other place?"

"Aye, some other place. Men in their arrogance think their little world is all, but Erestor will have told you that the stars are suns in their own right. Have you never considered what that signifies, Legolas?"

Legolas shook his head. He had always understood that there were other worlds far beyond the reach of the inhabitants of Arda. Yet these worlds were distant and he had never dwelt upon the fact of their existence.

"So far away," he murmured. "The stars must be very distant for them to look so tiny next the sun."

"Yes, I may go on a long journey," conceded Gandalf. "But remember this, Legolas: every path allows passage in both directions."

"There and Back Again?" Legolas said hopefully. Gandalf laughed and tousled his hair as he used to do when Legolas was younger. "An elfling, indeed," he chuckled. "Still, let us hope so. Although I do not promise it! However, whether I return or no, for now you must think how you may pass your time here in Middle-earth. That is the cure I spoke of."

"Aragorn has asked me to help restore both Ithilien and the gardens of Minas Tirith. But I cannot always be in Gondor."

"It will do for a start. Aragorn will also call upon you—and Gimli, too, I think—to stand guarantor of the welfare of his son. You will be, as Men say, a 'godfather'."

"I will not be very helpful in that regard," Legolas murmured. "As I have said, I cannot always be in Gondor. After I have helped restore Ithilien and the City's gardens, my father will doubtless insist that I return and settle in Mirkwood. I shouldn't be surprised if he never let me venture forth again, for I am to rule one day and he wishes to keep me close."

"I think you will find," Gandalf said shrewdly, "that Thranduil may not be as strict with you as formerly. Consider this: for a very long time Thranduil had thought that your cousin Tawarmaenas would be the one to ascend the throne. Indeed, I believe that at one time your father had gotten quite used to the notion."

Legolas listened eagerly, desirous that Gandalf should confirm what the Elf had always hoped.

"Before we departed Minas Tirith," the Istar continued, "I received messages from Lothlórien and Mirkwood. As might have been expected, those kingdoms had been besieged by our foes, and about the time we defeated the Orcs at Helm's Deep, similar attackers were driven off from both realms. Your cousin took command of the defense of the Great Hall whilst the King was away repulsing an attack upon the border. He managed quite ably, demonstrating to all that he would be a worthy successor to your father. I believe Thranduil has once again become quite complaisant upon the subject."

"Curious," mused Legolas. "Tawarmaenas never wished to be king. He was so very grateful when I returned to Mirkwood and was acknowledged Thranduil's son and heir."

"Making him all the more suited to rule in Thranduil's stead. He who does not desire power will wield it most judiciously. It is for this reason that Aragorn will be an excellent king. You would have been an excellent ruler as well, but unlike Tawarmaenas, you cannot be confined to Mirkwood, for your realm extends well beyond the borders of that land."

"My realm?"

"The hearts of many are yours to command, Legolas. Elves, Men, Hobbits, and Dwarves—it is your gift to unite them in a kingdom incorporeal but none the less real. And thus by your agency will be safeguarded the future of those of the Free Folk who would otherwise be cast aside in a Fourth Age that is to be dominated by Men."

The wizard arose and smiled down at Legolas. "My son, all his life Aragorn has been preparing to ascend the throne of Gondor. You, too, have been preparing for a position of equal honor. I knew it would be so when I spied you hidden in that tree in Imladris, a woeful little elfling, lost, hungry, frightened. So I took you to Elrond and bade him keep you secret and keep you safe, just as he would later keep Estel secret and safe."

The wizard reached down his hand and drew Legolas to his feet. The two began to walk slowly back toward the camp.

"Did you only take me to Rivendell because you thought I would be of use?" Legolas asked wistfully. "Did Elrond only keep me for the same reason?"

"I will admit, Laiqua," Gandalf said gently, "that at first my mind was filled with thoughts of your future and what it would mean for Middle-earth. But by the time I had reached Rivendell, I loved you, and when I entrusted you to Elrond, I did so reluctantly. I wanted to keep you by my side, but I knew you would be safer in Imladris."

"And Elrond?"

Gandalf laughed. "Answer me this, Legolas. Do you truly doubt Elrond's love for you?"

Legolas shook his head and broke into a broad smile. "No, Gandalf, I do not. No matter your instructions, I was such a trial to him that he would never have kept me save out of affection!"

The two friends were laughing as they reentered the camp, and Aragorn greeted them with a look of relief. Part-elven himself, he knew that Elves may fade from grief, and mindful of Legolas's love for his mentor, the Dúnadan had been frightened at the Elf's paleness and the look of pain upon his face. Now Legolas greeted him cheerfully. "Aragorn," he called, "in yonder thicket the trees are timid but in the main unharmed. I think most of the vegetation hereabouts simply laid low during the Orc occupation, and I have great hopes that Ithilien will recover rapidly."

The Elf knelt beside some ferns whose fronds were still tightly coiled into what Men call fiddleheads even though they should have been unfurled several days ago. Gently he stroked the croziers, and at his encouragement the ferns carefully uncoiled themselves and stood erect. Legolas looked up at Aragorn and Gandalf and grinned. Then he arose and went in search of other plants in need of succor.

"Where is he wandering off to?" worried Gimli, who had been watching from his seat by a camp fire. The Dwarf groaned and clambered to his feet. "As usual, that durned Elf needs looking after," he said testily, and then he clomped off in pursuit of his friend. Behind him, Éomer arose to his feet. Pausing briefly to retrieve his spear, he swiftly caught up with the Dwarf.

"We leave shortly," Aragorn called after the trio, and without turning Éomer signaled acknowledgement by raising his weapon.

"An Elf, a Man, and a Dwarf," said Aragorn dryly, his words echoing Éomer's on the day when the Rider had menaced Legolas with his spear and threatened to cut off Gimli's head.

"It is but a respite," said Gandalf. "By the time your grandson ascends the throne, the last Dwarf shall have returned to the earth from which he sprang, and the last Elf shall have passed beyond the Grey Havens. The Hobbits will perhaps linger a little longer, for they are small and may find a niche for themselves that Men may overlook. Yet for a little while Middle-earth shall know what it is to revel in the ways of all manner of folk, and when Man is left in sole possession of this land, the tales shall endure. In the memory of Man there will always be Elves and Dwarves and Ents and Hobbits. Even the Trolls and the Dragons and the Goblins shall be preserved in stories, and Men will be the gladder on that account. I told Legolas that by his agency the future of Elves and Dwarves and Hobbits would be assured. I did not lie, but in time he will come to understand that for those folk to live on in Middle-earth in the end they must take sanctuary in song."

"That is fitting," said Aragorn, "for was not Arda sung into being?"

"All of Eä, the Universe, the World That Is, was sung into being by the Music of the Ainur," corrected Gandalf.

"The Ainulindalë," Aragorn said with reverence. "The Singing of the Holy."

"Aye, and it is a song whose harmony has lately been broken, but now, for a time at least, discord shall be at an end."

Suddenly the sound of metal upon metal rang out from the direction Legolas had taken. "You spoke too soon, my friend," Aragorn said grimly. "Those are no harmonious instruments." Drawing his sword, he sprang into the thicket. Following the sound of clashing weapons, the Dúnadan broke through a tangle of briars and leaped into a clearing where Éomer, Gimli, and Legolas were fending off more than a dozen Orcs. Several of their foes lay at their feet, but the surviving Orcs were reckless of their lives and pressed on. The arrival of Aragorn, however, evened the odds, and when Elladan, Elrohir, and Imrahil burst into the clearing, the battle turned in favor of Aragorn and his friends. Soon the Dúnadan stood leaning upon his sword surveying his fallen enemies. He shook his head, his face wry, before turning to Legolas. "Mellon-nín, I pray you that you do no further gardening in Ithilien until it has been utterly swept clean of our enemies. I have no desire to see _you_ planted here."

Legolas looked discomfited. "I am sorry, Aragorn. I should have sensed the presence of these Orcs, but the trees hereabouts are so on edge that it can be difficult to distinguish a specific threat against the background of a general uneasiness."

Aragorn looked about. He nodded. "I see your point—feel it, rather. Well, let us reassure the trees somewhat by disposing of these carcasses."

Men came and dragged the Orc bodies out of the thicket. Other Men gathered all the dry branches and fallen limbs they could find and heaped them over the carcasses. Watchfully, they stood by until the Orcs were reduced to ashes and cracked bones. Afterward, they heaped dirt over the scorched earth, lest any ember remain that should set the woods on fire.

Then at last the company broke camp and rode for Henneth Annûn and the Field of Cormallen.


	42. Chapter 42: Four Simple Words

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**The incident in which Elrohir almost drowns in a cave is recounted in Chapters 3 and 4 of the story "Blind Fate."**

**Thanks to the following reviewers:**_** Jasta Elf, Ilada'Jefiv, Foxgurl0000, vectis, The Inebriated Lion-Minion, milou8, and CAH**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Lord of the Rings.**_

**Beta Reader: **_**Dragonfly**_

**Chapter 42: Four Simple Words**

The company had sent up camp near Henneth Annûn. Scouts had swept the area several times, and Aragorn had been satisfied as to the safety of that place. Men were now filling their water skins upstream of a pool. Other Men were bathing in the pool and washing their clothes. Legolas had joined these latter, and Gimli came and sat cross-legged on the shore. "Skinny Elf," he said cheerfully. "Hairy Dwarf," called Legolas before scissoring his legs and diving beneath the water. When he surfaced, he was surprised to find Gimli pulling off his leggings and tossing them next to his other garments. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt if I took a bath," said the Dwarf as he climbed gingerly into the water. "I was thrown into a pool at Helm's Deep, but the water was muddy, so I suppose I haven't had a proper rinsing since I was dunked in the waters of the Anduin. That was, I hope you remember, thanks to your lack of skill at handling boats."

"_My_ lack of skill," exclaimed Legolas. "My lack of _skill_? Have you forgotten that you leaned over the gunnel and so threw us off balance?"

"That's not how _I_ remember it," retorted Gimli. "And my memory is as keen as my eyesight and my hearing."

Legolas sent a plume of water Gimli's way, and Gimli reciprocated. They amused themselves in this fashion for several minutes, and then Gimli gave a shout. Standing on the bank were Merry and Pippin. Elf and Dwarf swam for the shore. "Hullo, Gimli. Hullo, Legolas," beamed Merry. The Hobbit looked hale and hearty and no longer carried his arm in a sling.

"You look well, Merry," smiled Legolas.

"I am well, Legolas, and so is Pippin. I am ever so glad he had the two of you to look after him."

"Sam and Frodo are here," Gimli said.

"Yes, we know," Pippin replied. "We have just come from speaking with Sam. Gandalf sent us to fetch you because he thinks Frodo, too, will soon be awake, and Aragorn says there is to be a feast as soon as he is."

Merry was carrying a bundle, and now he laid it down and unwrapped it. "Faramir and Éowyn have sent you both gifts of fine garments that you may wear to the feast." He held up a beautifully embroidered white tunic that shimmered in the sun.

"I'm not wearing that," grumbled Gimli.

Merry laughed. "Oh, that one is for Legolas." He held up a second garment, a fine leather jerkin. Gimli relaxed. "Nothing wrong with the one I've got," he grunted, "but I suppose there's no reason I shouldn't wear the new one. Looks serviceable enough."

With that, the two friends came out of the water and began to dress. As they did so, the Hobbits noticed that they shared something with the Elf and Dwarf.

"Legolas," exclaimed Merry, pointing at the Elf's forearm, "you have got a birthmark that is exactly like mine!"

"And Gimli has one, too, on his shoulder," Pippin added. "Your birthmarks are like mine and Merry's. Sam's and Frodo's, too!"

"Yes," Legolas said calmly. "Gandalf and Aragorn bear that mark as well." Legolas had handled Boromir's body after death, and he told the Hobbits that the Gondorian, too, had borne the selfsame mark.

"It looks like lettering," Merry said.

"That's true," agreed Gimli. "The first time I saw elven script, it put me in mind of my birthmark. Bothered me then, that there should be anything elvish about me. Your pardon, Legolas," he added, turning to his friend, "but I thought I had cause to dislike Elves."

"You did have cause, Gimli. Or, rather, you had cause to dislike certain Elves. Likewise, I had been offended by certain Dwarves."

"Aye, and the mistake that we two made in common was to hold an entire folk responsible for offenses committed by a few."

"Yes, but we made a second mistake, you and I. We never considered forgiving those few that _had_ offended us but insisted on clinging to our indignation."

Nodding, Gimli opened his mouth to agree, but Pippin interrupted impatiently. "I am glad that you two have become an emblem of amity, but I am still curious about the mark that we have in common. We are all agreed that it looks like elven script. Does it actually say anything?"

"Yes," replied Legolas. "It is the Sindarin word for 'nine'."

"Nine," said Merry excitedly. "We were nine!"

"The Nine Walkers," Pippin chimed in.

"But that must mean," began Merry.

"That it was ordained we should be a Fellowship," finished Pippin.

Gimli looked bothered. "I don't mind having a mark in common with the lot of you," he said slowly, "but I should like to think that I _chose_ to join the fellowship. Because if I didn't, well, there was no virtue in anything I accomplished these past months. I merely did what someone had decided I should do."

"Perhaps," suggested Legolas, "it was not ordained that we should be a fellowship; rather, it was _known_ that we should be one."

"I do not see the difference," said Pippin.

"Merry is well acquainted with you, and you with him. Is that not so?" said Legolas.

Pippin laughed and nodded.

I would wager that you, Pippin, can often predict what Merry will do, and that Merry can predict the same of you."

"But I do not _make_ Pippin behave in such and such a fashion by merely knowing that he will do so," exclaimed Merry. "That's what you are driving at, isn't it!" The Hobbit turned to Gimli. "You _did_ choose to join the Fellowship, Gimli. Someone very, very shrewdly guessed that you should, but that does not detract from your virtue in the least."

"I wonder," grumbled Gimli. "whether that _someone_ knew how things would turn out. It would have been comforting to know, as we marched toward Mordor, that we would survive the trek."

"Now you contradict yourself," scolded Merry. "If you went into battle knowing that you would survive unscathed, you should have had no opportunity to be brave."

"True," agreed Legolas. "Without risk there can be no courage. The gods leave us in doubt so that we may have the opportunity to be wise and brave."

"Or foolish and cowardly," said Gimli. "I understand, Legolas. All must be possible to us if any of our choices are to matter, so the gods gift us with uncertainty."

"If you would like employment as a philosopher," came a voice, "I am sure I could find a place for you, Gimli."

"Mae govannen, Aragorn," smiled Legolas. "Are you here at last to bathe? I am sure we should all be glad if you did!"

"Don't make no never mind to me," harrumphed Gimli. "I never have understood why Legolas calls Aragorn a filthy human."

"There was that time we were being dragged off toward Isengard," said Pippin. "The Orcs began sniffing the air, and one of them declared that he smelled Man. Then they began to run all the faster!"

"Ah, yes," conceded Gimli. "I do remember Aragorn saying that the Orcs must have caught wind of us. So it was Aragorn in particular that they scented. I guess that dip in the Anduin did me some good after all."

Gimli's friends shouted with laughter. "I have already bathed," said Aragorn when they calmed. "I came down at dawn with Elladan and Elrohir. Now I am here to fetch you folks. It seems that Merry and Pippin were sent to summon Elf and Dwarf but have failed in their mission and now must be summoned in turn."

The friends set out for the pavilion that had been set aside for Sam and Frodo. They had only gone a little way when they met Sam, who was very much out of breath. "Gandalf is quite certain that Frodo is on the verge of waking," he gasped, "so he has sent me to fetch Aragorn, who was sent to fetch Merry and Pippin, who were sent to fetch Gimli and Legolas. Come along, the lot of you!"

They hastened their steps, and with a breathless Sam bringing up the rear, they entered the meadow where the pavilion stood. As they neared it, they heard laughter, both Frodo's and Gandalf's. Merry and Pippin ran forward and disappeared into the shelter.

The others gave them a few moments, and then Legolas went forward. He found Gandalf sitting on a chair at the foot of Frodo's bed, beaming and looking very unlike the careworn wizard of the past few months. Save for his hair, which was now pure white, he could have been the Gandalf Legolas knew in Rivendell, ensconced in a chair in the Hall of Fire, enjoying a glass of wine and the conversation of Elves.

Frodo was sitting up, his back supported by pillows, and Pippin and Merry in their excitement were bouncing on his pallet as if they were young Hobbits frolicking in the Shire. Frodo caught sight of Legolas, and an expression both startled and awed passed over the Hobbit's face. Legolas was backlit by the light of the pavilion's entrance. 'In this light, with my white tunic and my golden hair, I must look rather ethereal', the Elf said to himself with amusement.

As Legolas stood by the entrance, Aragorn stepped into the chamber. The Dúnadan did not look at all like the scruffy Ranger of old, but he appeared less ethereal, more material, than Legolas, and the look of awe began to fade from Frodo's face, replaced by the more mundane expressions of joy and relief. Then Gimli bustled in with a shout and charged toward Frodo's pallet. Frodo was once again laughing aloud.

A few moments later Sam, self-effacing as ever, tried to slip quietly into the pavilion. Frodo spotted him almost immediately, however, and the two exchanged a look of deep affection. 'Frodo and Sam are very much like Gimli and me', thought Legolas. 'They have forged a bond as strong as any that may exist in Middle-earth'.

Legolas took a seat by Gandalf and listened as the members of the Fellowship shared their tales one with the other.

"So that is how Sauron's minions came into possession of the sword, cloak, and mithril shirt," exclaimed Gimli as Sam told how Frodo had been stunned by the giant spider Shelob and dragged by Orcs into the Tower of Cirith Ungol. "Good thinking, Sam, to take the Ring so that it did not fall into their hands."

Frodo stirred and exchanged an uneasy glance with Sam. 'I suppose', thought Legolas, noticing their expressions, 'that it must have been a trial to Frodo to be deprived of the Ring. He must have suffered whilst he thought it had fallen into Sauron's hands. But he must have suffered only a little less when he realized that Sam had possessed it, so fearsome a power the Ring had over those who bore it long, as Frodo did'.

Legolas glanced at Gandalf. The wizard looked grave, and Legolas realized that the Istar must be thinking along the same lines as the Elf. Gandalf felt the Sinda's eyes upon him. He looked at the Elf and smiled, but a little of the old careworn expression seemed to have settled upon him.

Sam was now describing the final moments before the destruction of the Ring.

"So Frodo had vanished," he was explaining, "but there was Gollum fighting with Frodo. Do you know, though, for a funny moment, I thought Gollum was fighting with himself!? Of course, Gollum had hit me on the head with a rock, so I was a little confused."

'Sam's words are more apt than he knows', Legolas mused to himself. 'The Frodo that we knew had vanished, and Gollum was struggling with a simulacrum of himself'.

"Gollum didn't have many teeth in that lying mouth of his," Sam was continuing, "but the ones he had were sharp enough. He got poor Frodo's finger into his mouth and bit it right off. And so he had got the Ring. Not that he got much pleasure out of it—then or ever! He didn't pay no mind to where he stood, and as he gloated over his Precious he danced right over the edge of the pit and fell into it. Took the Ring with him, and there's an end of it."

Legolas stared at Frodo's hand, bandaged to stanch the flow of blow from the gash where his finger had been. 'An end?' he thought to himself. 'Not for Frodo. Now he has lost the Ring, he will forever feel incomplete'.

The conversation flowed on, Merry and Pippin now urging the other members of the Fellowship to tell their tales. Aragorn proved to be taciturn, and Legolas not much better, but Gimli cheerfully itemized each and every one of their skirmishes and escapes, with various and sundry embellishments. His drollery kept his audience laughing, and even Frodo recovered his spirits and began to laugh once more.

In the midst of the chaffing and merriment, a messenger arrived with word from Prince Imrahil that the feast was about to commence. To Sam and Frodo's chagrin, they learned that they were to wear the garments they had had on when they were rescued from a hillock at the base of Mount Orodruin that had served as an island in a sea of the lava. "I don't expect Frodo to be decked out like our Elf here," protested Sam, "but couldn't he at least wear something like what Gimli has got on." Legolas glanced swiftly at Gimli but saw that the Dwarf had not taken the comparison amiss. "That's right," the Nauga harrumphed. "I've got on proper clothes. Why may Frodo and Sam not wear suchlike garments?"

"These clothes are an emblem of the great deed performed by Sam and Frodo," explained Gandalf, "and it is fitting that they wear them while that deed is celebrated. Afterward they may don other garments. I understand that a messenger has lately arrived in camp who has ridden hard all the way from Mirkwood bearing clothes stitched by someone of Legolas's acquaintance. I have it on good authority that some of these garments are Hobbit-sized." Gandalf winked at Legolas. 'Edwen Nana', thought Legolas, laughing to himself. 'I'll wager Galadriel sent Edwen Nana a description of Frodo and Sam from our stay in Lórien, and she has spent all her time cutting and stitching clothes for them'.

In point of fact, Edwen Nana had not spent _all _her time cutting and stitching clothes; she had also played an important part in the defense of Thranduil's realm. Helm's Deep and Minas Tirith had of course been only two of the fronts that had opened during the War of the Ring. Legolas, however, had not yet learned of the battle that had taken place within the very walls of the Great Hall itself, one in which Edwen Nana had 'served' a number of Orcs their 'just deserts'.

The feast was a marvelous entertainment of many courses. Sam and Frodo, though, found that they had been on short rations for so long that they could eat very little. Pippin and Merry, however, suffered from no such disability. Between bouts of waiting table as squires of Rohan and Gondor, they contrived to eat their share; and with Gimli's help, they ate Sam and Frodo's share as well. "We are old campaigners," Merry gravely assured Éomer. "We know that when food is placed before us, we ought to make the most of it, for rations may later be much reduced."

Éomer inclined his head in acknowledgement of the wisdom of the Holbytla, as Merry was styled in the language of Rohan.

"Master Meriadoc is small," he said to his seatmates, Elladan and Elrohir. "He wears the armor that my uncle wore as a child. But his heart is as large as my uncle's was at the height of his courage."

These sober reflections were interrupted by Gimli, who was telling all and sundry about the Battle of the Cups, as he styled it, that had taken place at Edoras during the feast in celebration of Saruman's defeat. "I was the last Dwarf standing," he boasted, conveniently omitting the fact that he had been the only Nauga present and so perforce must have been the last one standing.

"So, Éomer, your Riders thought that an Elf would be susceptible to your beer," laughed Elrohir. "I assure you, however, that Legolas has long been inured to the effect of such a beverage. My brother and I have engaged Legolas in many a bout of a game such as Gimli describes, and our beverage of choice was a very strong wine. Aye, stronger by far than any beer, and stronger than this wine we drink now."

"Is that so?" said Éomer, his eyes glinting as he reached for a cup. "Well, then, you can have no objection if we match cups since, as you say, you are well prepared for such a contest."

Gandalf cleared his throat. "I pray you, Éomer, that you wait for another occasion to engage in that game."

Disappointed, both Elrohir and Éomer sank back in their seats. Looking on, Legolas grinned. 'Oh, yes', he said to himself, 'Elrohir and Éomer are going to be _such_ great friends!'

At length everyone had eaten his fill, and after the leftover food had been removed (a very small item), poets came forth and sang songs composed in honor of the late victories. A Rohirric minstrel recounted the battle for the Hornburg, and a Man of Gondor stepped forth to sing of the Battle of the Pelennor. A grim Ranger from the North surprised the crowd by throwing aside his cloak to reveal a small harp, which he plucked as he sang the tale of the taking of the fleet at Pelargir. His voice was sweet for one so weather-worn, and Legolas suspected that he was much younger than his appearance suggested.

After the Ranger had completed his tale, the greatest poet of Gondor stood forth and sang of "Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of Doom." Legolas watched, amused, as Frodo and Sam reacted in characteristic fashion. Frodo blushed and looked down. Sam, however, beamed at the accolades being heaped upon his friend. Legolas suspected, though, that Sam was oblivious to the praise for his own actions that was threaded throughout the song.

The song was the final one of the evening. Afterward, Aragorn arose and dismissed the assembly. Aragorn, Imrahil, Gandalf, and Éomer withdrew to a pavilion to meet with emissaries from Harad and Rhûn who came to profess their innocence in the late events. The Hobbits, accompanied by Legolas, Gimli, and the sons of Elrond, returned to the pavilion set aside for Sam and Frodo. The clothes sewn for Frodo and Sam by Edwen Nana were laid out for them. Legolas was impressed. Not only were the garments of the correct size, but they reproduced in every detail typical Hobbit garb. Galadriel must have been very precise in her instructions.

After Sam and Frodo had changed, Elrohir produced a bottle of wine that he had helped himself to as they had departed the Field of Cormallen. Pippin and Merry were impressed. No one had seen Elrohir pick up the bottle, and no one knew he had it on his person. The two Hobbits and the Elf retired to a corner to exchange trade secrets.

Gimli, however, was not so impressed. "It's not beer," he grumbled.

Legolas chided him laughingly. "Truly, my friend, Elrohir couldn't be expected to hide a keg upon his person. But Éomer's tent is not far from here. Beer was brought in for the feast, and I warrant that a cask or two found its way to our friend's tent. I will go ask Gamling if he would spare some for you."

Sam had overheard this conversation. "Why only for Gimli?" he protested. "We Hobbits are fond of beer."

"Very well, Sam. I shall ask Gamling if he will spare some for you as well."

"And me," called Pippin from the corner.

"I as well," shouted Merry.

Only Frodo had no interest in beer. He seemed very subdued and rubbed often at his shoulder. Legolas had heard the story of the attack of Weathertop, and he knew that the shoulder that troubled Frodo was the one that had been stabbed with a Morgul blade. The Elf's heart clenched. 'It is all very well for the rest of us to celebrate, but the War of the Ring is not over for Frodo. I suspect Gandalf would say that it will never be over for Frodo as long as he remains in Arda'.

Legolas was thoughtful as he walked to Éomer's tent, but Gamling soon jollied him into better humor. The Man made a great show of looking him up and down. "Beer?" he said in a doubtful voice. "_You_ want _beer_?"

"It's not for me," explained Legolas. "It's for Gimli."

"Oh, and we all know that the Dwarf holds his liquor so very well," deadpanned Gamling.

Man and Elf shared a laugh, and then Gamling gave orders that a small keg of beer be carried to Sam and Frodo's tent.

When Legolas rejoined his friends, Sam was explaining that he and Frodo had been in this place before.

"Hereabouts we were captured by scouts. We were in the brush, watching a skirmish between two groups of Men. We didn't know whether either side would be friendly to us, so we tried to stay hidden. The one side had oliphaunts." Here Sam sighed.

"The oliphaunts were on the wrong side," he continued after a moment, "and they were all slain or driven off. Afterward, the Men who won the skirmish found us. Happens they were Men of Gondor, although they didn't tell us that straightaway. They were led by a Man called Faramir, and _he_ didn't tell us straightaway that he was Boromir's brother. Howsomever, he was as gentle as Boromir was grim. I didn't think so at first, mind you! Truly, at first I thought he would take the Ring."

Here Frodo stirred uneasily, and his hand went to his throat.

"They put hoods over our heads," continued Sam, "and bore us to a cave hidden behind a waterfall."

Gimli, Elrohir, and the two youngest Hobbits immediately expressed an interest in visiting this cave.

"I am surprised at you, Elrohir," observed Elladan. "I should have thought you had had enough of caves. The other day you told a tale of how you nearly came to disaster in a cave when you were an elfling, and you were about to tell a second such tale when we were interrupted by Aragorn."

Elrohir sobered at once. "Yes, I was just about to explain how I nearly drowned in a cave," he said somberly. "An earthquake had shaken Imladris, and this cataclysm had reshaped the earth and exposed an entrance to a tunnel. Elladan tried to persuade me not to enter."

"Yes," agreed Elladan. "I pointed out the danger of Trolls. But you called me a dwarf-pate—I beg pardon, Gimli, but that is how we spoke then!"

"That is how _I_ spoke then as well," Legolas observed ruefully.

"Pardon freely given," Gimli harrumphed, "in requital of this excellent beer that Legolas fetched for me."

Legolas at once remembered how, before the Company had departed Rivendell, Gandalf had set him to fetching beer for the Dwarf. He had resented being sent on such an errand then. He grinned at the memory and shook his head at how foolish he had been.

Elladan was continuing his tale. "In spite of my protests, Elrohir insisted on entering the cave. I told him that _he_ might go in if he liked but that _I_ was going to keep watch at the entrance. No one knew where we had gotten to, and if something were to go wrong, I would be able to go for help. At first Elrohir agreed only grudgingly to this plan, but then his mood changed and he agreed cheerfully. I suspect he had realized that if he went in alone then only _he_ would get the credit for the discovery."

Elrohir blushed and thus confirmed Elladan's surmise.

"Elrohir kindled a torch," Elladan continued, "and I held the burning brand as he crawled through the entrance. It was very small and admitted into a tunnel that angled down. Once Elrohir was through and had safely found his feet, I handed the torch through the opening. 'Don't go far, Elrohir', I begged. 'Even if there are no Trolls in that cave, there may be other dangers'."

"Elrohir promised that he would only explore until the torch was half burned and that he would then turn back at once. I peered through the opening as the light from the torch steadily descended. When I could no longer see even the slightest flicker, I sat back and looked about. At once I noticed that the sky, which had been clear, was now overcast.

I drew my cloak up over my head, and soon the first drops fell from the sky. It was warm, and I didn't mind. Quickly, however, the gentle rain was transformed into a torrential downpour, and soon I was soaked. Still, I didn't mind—until I suddenly realized that rainwater was pouring into the entrance to the cave. Peering into the opening, I saw a waterfall cascading down into the tunnel. This was a horrifying sight, for I feared that my brother should be trapped in the depths of the cave."

"I repeatedly shouted into the tunnel," Elladan went on, "but I received no answer and decided that I must go after him. Unfortunately, the sticks and leaves that I assembled into a torch were drenched, and all my efforts to kindle them were in vain. However, the rain that ruined my torch had also awoken Legolas, whom we had left sleeping nearby whilst we were exploring. I began to shout, and he heard my cries and came running. I bade him run home and fetch help, but he had a better plan. He saw that the entrance was small and that the water rose rapidly. 'The Hall is too far for help to arrive in time', he declared, 'and even if it were closer, no grown Elf could fit through that hole. I will go down myself'."

"At first I disagreed with this plan, for I did not see how he could find his way without a torch. But Legolas had had the misfortune—or fortune, as it would turn out—of having suffered a bout of blindness, and during that time he had learned to move about by touch. So he declared that he would feel his way. He threw aside his cloak and slid through the narrow entrance and down into the cave. For several minutes I could make out his figure, but then he vanished into the darkness."

All eyes turned expectantly toward Legolas.

"How high was the water?" Pippin asked.

Legolas shrugged. "At first it only reached my ankles. After a bit, it reached my knees."

"And then your thighs and then your waist, Legolas," declared Elrohir. "You have no cause to be modest, my brother. You know that in the end the water was so high that you were forced to swim. Tell the story in its entirety."

"And tell us how you managed to feel your way whilst surrounded by water," demanded Merry.

"It was not hard," insisted Legolas. "From time to time a slight breeze would tell me that I was passing a side tunnel. Whenever I encountered one, I stopped and shouted Elrohir's name. Hearing nothing, I would move on. I kept count of the number of tunnels I passed and whether each was to my left or my right. In time, as Elrohir has said, I was swimming past these tunnels. When the water had risen to my chest, it was in fact easier to swim through the water than push through it."

"Eventually," Legolas continued, "I reached a point where the ceiling of the cave dipped down so low that I would have to submerge myself if I were to go further."

"But how could you tell that there would be any air past that point?" Sam worried.

Legolas shook his head. "I couldn't be certain, of course. But I reminded myself that the ceiling had dipped low at several points but had always quickly risen once again. If this were such an instance, I thought that if I should swim under the barrier, I should find the passageway unobstructed on the other side."

"But you couldn't be certain," Sam insisted.

"True, Sam. Therefore I resolved that I should swim until I felt myself growing short of air and then, if need be, I would turn back. I took a deep breath, ducked under the water, and swam forward. I swam on my side so that I could feel with my hand whether the tunnel was opening up once again. My gamble was rewarded. Almost immediately, my hand lost contact with the ceiling, and I surfaced into a light-filled chamber."

"I cried out unashamedly at the sight of him," said Elrohir, taking up the tale. "I was in water up to my chest, desperately holding my torch above the flood. I demanded of him how he came there. 'The way is blocked', I said, bewildered. 'There is nothing blocking the tunnel', Legolas replied, speaking lightly for he saw how frightened I was. I insisted again that the way was blocked by water. 'Then how came I here?' Legolas replied with a bit of a grin. I was nettled at that, which is no doubt what Legolas wanted. 'That's what _I_ asked!' I exclaimed."

"Legolas explained, reminding me that one can pass through water, and he also told me that to get out we would only have to go a trifling distance whilst submerged. He pointed to the spot where the ceiling of the chamber met the water and explained the obvious: that there had been open space on the other side, else how could he have arrived from that direction."

"Still, I was reluctant to venture that way. I pointed out that the torch would go out, and I asked Legolas whether he had left a torch on the other side. He said he had not but that it didn't matter. 'Never mind about that', he said. "We can still find our way out. There are a few side tunnels, but luckily you followed a straight path. It shall be a simple matter to hold to the main tunnel'."

"I was still afraid that we would never be able to avoid blundering off the main path without the aid of a torch, but by now I had no choice but to trust Legolas. As we talked, the chamber had continued to fill, and the water was now up to my shoulders. If we did not escape soon, perhaps the entire cave would be submerged. I nodded. Tossing aside the torch, I gripped the back of Legolas's tunic, took a deep breath, and, when Legolas ducked under the water, I ducked under as well."

"We came up in the air but in utter darkness as well. I continued to clutch at Legolas, following him as he steadily retraced his steps. He took great pains to reassure me that we were making progress. As he has told us, he had taken note of the number of side tunnels, and each time we came to one, he counted them down. 'Do you feel that breeze?' he said to me when we reached the first one. 'That's a passageway that leads off to the left. We shan't take it, but now we've reached it, there are only five more tunnels that we must pass before we reach a place where the cave begins to angle upward. From that point onward, the water shall begin to rapidly decrease in depth'."

"As the water now lapped at our throats, I desperately hoped that Legolas was right.

We reached the second passageway, and the third. We were swimming even at points where Legolas later told me he had at first been able to wade. Even whilst we were swimming, Legolas trailed a hand along the side of the tunnel in order to keep his bearings."

"'Do not worry, Elrohir'," he called above the sound of churning water. 'Even if the flood continues to rise, the ceiling in this portion is high above us'."

"'How do you know?' I shouted."

"'I can feel it'," Legolas called back. 'If the ceiling were within a few feet of us, I should know it'."

"We swam past the fourth and fifth passageway. 'Only a little further', Legolas encouraged me. I am sure he must have felt me trembling with cold and fear. 'Here, do you feel that?' he said. 'We are just now passing by the sixth side-tunnel'."

"After swimming a little ways past that point, we were at last able to touch our feet to the bottom, although just barely. We pressed on, and soon the water was down to our shoulders and then to our waists. On and on we trekked, and at last the water was no higher than our ankles."

"'We are very near the entrance now', Legolas assured me."

"We scrambled a little further, and at last we could see light. Soon after, we climbed forth from what could have been our tomb. Once free of the cave, I tried to put on a show of bravado, pretending that I had never been frightened and making light of the sufferings of Elladan, who had been sitting miserably by the side of the entrance to the cave. But, truly, I had been terrified, and when Elladan berated me for my thoughtlessness, I was shamed to my very core. I humbly apologized to him, and with like humility I thanked Legolas. Since then, I have been respectful of caves. Only one other cavern have I ever entered, and that was the one that led under the Dwimorberg."

"The Paths of the Dead," Gimli said solemnly. "Even I found that place to be fearsome."

"Well, this cave innit a path for dead folk what walk," said Sam, "as seems to have happened in that Dwimorberg place you have been talking about. Nor is it filled with the dead what don't walk. Not like Moria, begging your pardon, Master Gimli. No Orcs neither. And as to flooding," he continued, turning to Elrohir. "It is true that one must pass through a waterfall to reach it, but once past that, a body must climb steps carved into a cliff face until he is far above the pool below. I reckon it would take a flood what would drown the earth afore water reached that cave."

Merry and Pippin declared that on the morrow they wished to visit the cave. Smiling at their enthusiasm, Elladan and Elrohir said that they would join them. Gimli, of course, was eager to go, and to humor him Legolas agreed to as well.

"I have already promised to go with you to visit the caves beneath Helm's Deep," he reminded the Dwarf, "so now you very much in my debt. Remember that when it comes time for you to journey with me to Fangorn Forest. I will hold you to your pledge, Gimli!"

Gimli grimaced a little, but renewed his promise to allow Legolas to show him the wonders of Fangorn. Then the Dwarf turned to Frodo. "You have been very quiet, Master Baggins. You will come with us to the cave tomorrow?"

Before Frodo could answer, Sam spoke. "Why, of course he will! Won't you, Frodo?"

Frodo hesitated. Sam looked appealingly at him. After a moment, he nodded. Sam smiled, but Frodo looked somber.

'I wonder what happened in the cave', Legolas wondered, 'that Frodo is so reluctant to return to it'.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Gandalf. The wizard frowned at the now empty keg and the equally empty wine bottle. "I hope you remember that Sam and Frodo—aye, and Pippin, too—have but lately recovered from their injuries. Clear off, the lot of you, and let these Hobbits sleep."

"Well, _I_ am not sleepy," declared Merry.

Gandalf's eyebrows bristled.

"Perhaps I am," Merry said hastily.

Laughing, Legolas and Gimli bade the company farewell and retired to their own sleeping quarters. "That Gandalf," chortled Gimli, "he is the same as always—a fierce old codger he was; a fierce old codger he is."

Legolas shook his head. "It is true that Gandalf is still a fierce old codger, as you say, but he is not altogether the same. We none of us are."

"Well, _I_ have not changed," Gimli declared.

"Gimli, are you my friend?"

"Of course!"

"Then you have changed."

"Oh. So I have. But _that's_ all right," the Dwarf added. "It's _good_ that I am your friend!"

"I never said change was necessarily bad, Gimli."

"True. You didn't. I suppose I assumed it was. Now I think on it, much change is for the better. Take our Samwise. He is bolder than he was when we set out from Rivendell. Merry and Pippin, they're steadier. But tell me, Legolas, in what way has Gandalf changed? I _liked_ him as a fierce old codger!"

"And we are agreed that he still _is_ a fierce old codger. But he has indeed changed. He indulges himself in moments of pure merriment."

"Well, _that's_ good."

"But he is also more melancholy than formerly."

"Legolas, our Gandalf was always capable of putting on a solemn face."

"Melancholy is not the same thing as solemnity," Legolas pointed out. "The War of the Ring is at an end, and Gandalf now has time to reflect—and some of his reflections are sorrowful."

"He is sorry for our losses, I suppose."

"Yes, and sorry for losses to come."

"Ah, trust a wizard to sorrow over things unseen—or foreseen, I guess. So, Legolas, what loss does Gandalf fear?"

"Not fear—know."

"Right. Wizard. Know, then."

"He knows," Legolas said sadly, "that he has lost Middle-earth."

"Lost Middle-earth? I thought we had just saved Middle-earth. What was the point of this durned war if not to save Middle-earth?"

"I should have said that Middle-earth is lost to Gandalf," Legolas amended.

"You have been taking lessons from the Lady Galadriel in speaking enigmatically. How can Middle-earth be lost to Gandalf? It is a little too big to be mislaid!"

Legolas suspected that Gimli was trying to jolly him, and he smiled gratefully at the Dwarf. "Gimli, you have heard me speak of the Grey Havens."

"Aye, lad, I have. It's that port to the west of Frodo's land, innit it? You began to talk of it after our victory at Pelargir. I couldn't make much sense of your words, though. Something about seagulls and voyages and westering and suchlike nonsense."

At the word 'seagulls', Legolas's face took on a faraway look. Gimli grew anxious as the Elf sat silently. "Legolas?" he said as the minutes wore on. When the Elf did not answer, Gimli carefully laid a hand on Legolas's shoulder and gently shook it. The Elf's eyes came back into focus.

"Sorry, lad," Gimli apologized. "You were off someplace, and I thought I'd best call you back."

Legolas took a deep breath and then nodded. "Thank you, Gimli. I was speaking of the Grey Havens, wasn't I? Gandalf will journey thence, I think."

"To the Grey Havens?" Gimli looked blank for a minute, and then his face took on a stricken look. "I understand," he said softly. "Gandalf had a hand in the raising of you, didn't he, lad?"

Legolas nodded.

"And now he is leaving," continued Gimli. "Middle-earth is lost to Gandalf, and Gandalf is lost to you. Is that the notion left you so distressed the other day?"

Legolas confessed that it was. Gimli put a consoling hand upon his shoulder. "I am sorry, Legolas," he said simply.

Legolas thought he had never heard a speech more eloquent than that contained within those four simple words.


	43. Chapter 43: Heart of Darkness

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**The incident in which Elrohir is almost carried away by the desire for revenge is recounted in Chapter 7 of the story "Dol Guldur," and his desire for revenge is alluded to in Chapters 1 and 2 of that story.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers:**_** Jasta Elf, Ilada'Jefiv, Foxgurl0000, Lonekit of Thunderclan, Elfinabottle, RumorUnderOath, vectis, milou8, and CAH**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Lord of the Rings.**_

**Beta Reader: No beta reader this time. **_**Dragonfly**_**, who has saved me from so many errors in previous chapters, has been vacationing with her family. Yes, some members of the fanfiction community actually have Real Lives!**

**Chapter 43: Heart of Darkness**

"A good enough cave," Gimli pronounced, surveying the place that had served Faramir and his Men as headquarters during the time that they had harried Sauron's forces in North Ithilien. "It is well hidden by the waterfall but is itself dry. It is well ventilated, the floor is flat, and the chamber is large. Faramir's Men have made good use of the space, for it is outfitted with chests and barrels well disposed—not at all like Troll caves, which are invariably messy, everything jumbled helter-skelter."

"So you approve of this cave," said Legolas, smiling.

"Indeed I do. I might also mention," Gimli added, "that it contains no bodies and no dead men what walk, which are just the sort of things that mar the enjoyment of a good cave."

"How does it compare to the caverns beneath the Hornburg?" asked Éomer, who had been invited by Elrohir to join them in their excursion.

"Oh, as to those caverns, there is no comparison. For one thing, the caverns at the Hornburg are more extensive, being a complex of caves rather than the one chamber. Moreover, each individual chamber is much larger than this one. Then, too, the caves in that place are more beautiful. Here are no stalactites and stalagmites. Here the walls do not sparkle with flecks of minerals, hints of the gemstones hidden within the recesses of the cavern."

"Erestor was forever carrying on about stalactites and stalagmites when we studied Natural Philosophy," Elrohir observed, "but I could never remember which was which."

"Now your stalactite," expounded Gimli, "or dripstone, as we sometimes call it, hangs down from the ceiling of the cave. You may think of it as a stone icicle, and that is how I learned to distinguish it from the stalagmite. For there is a 'c' in the word 'icicle', and there is a 'c' in 'stalactite'. So a stalactite hangs from the ceiling like an icicle. Once that is understood," Gimli concluded triumphantly, "it is easy to remember that the stalagmite is the other one, the accretion that builds up on the floor of the cave."

"Sometimes the two meet to form a column," said Éomer. "What do you call such a column?"

"A column," replied Gimli.

"Just a column?"

"Sometimes a column is just a column," said Gimli cheerfully.

"Good line," muttered Gandalf, who had also agreed to join their company. "I must find an excuse to use it sometime."

While Gimli had been holding forth upon caverns and their accouterments, Frodo had retreated to a spot near the entrance of the cave. Unobtrusively, Legolas detached himself from the others and went to stand by his side.

"Gandalf tells me that Hobbits are comfortable in caves, but you do not like this one," the Elf said softly.

Frodo remained silent for several moments. When at last the Hobbit spoke, for all his excellent elven hearing, Legolas was forced to strain to hear his words.

"I was almost lost in this cave," Frodo murmured.

Legolas pretended not to understand. "Lost?" he said. "I do not see how one could be lost in this cave. It is too small, and there are no side tunnels."

Frodo smiled a little. "Anyone could tell that Gandalf was your instructor. You pretend confusion, but I know what you are about. You are trying to draw me out."

"I hope I am also like Gandalf in that you find me worthy of your trust."

Frodo's smile grew broader. "Wizard's pupil," he chuckled. Then he grew sober. "Legolas, I saw myself in this place, and I did not like the view."

"You are a wizard's pupil, too, Frodo, for you speak enigmatically."

"Very well, I shall speak more plainly. It was here that I saw for the first time that Gollum and I were one and the same, the one as prone to corruption as the other."

"That is indeed plainly spoken. What happened here that caused you to perceive this truth?"

"You do not try to argue me out of this belief? When I try to speak of this to Sam, he says that I am mistaken—that I could never have been like Gollum."

"Sadly, Sam is wrong. We are all corruptible. Sometimes it is mere happenstance that we escape temptation and are able to give sway to the better angels of our nature. When I was very young, Frodo, I ran away from Mirkwood, and I came to Rivendell by a circuitous route, one that brought me first to Isengard."

"Isengard? Did Saruman live there at the time?"

"Yes, and he had already begun to yield to his desire for power. I could not have known his innermost thoughts, yet I felt uneasy in his presence as he tried to persuade me to remain as _his_ wizard's pupil."

"Ah, but you didn't. _You_ were incorruptible."

Legolas shook his head. "No. I wasn't. Had I nowhere else to go, I would have yielded to his blandishments. I would have dwelt at Isengard, and I would soon have been an Orc in all but appearance."

"But you _didn't_ remain, Legolas."

"Because I had a choice, Frodo. I knew that Elrond had taken in the dispossessed, and Galadriel had urged me to go to him. What if I had thought that Saruman was the only one willing to give me sanctuary? I should have remained, for I would have been desperate. Day after day Saruman would have addressed me in his honeyed voice. I would have heeded him, for there would have been no countervailing voice; and after enough time had passed, I should have found it within me to commit one small wrong. Having committed the first, I would have found it easier to commit the second. By degrees, I should have gone from committing small wrongs to performing slightly worse deeds. The space between the one and the other would have been scarcely perceptible. Inexorably, by the tiniest of degrees, I should have been utterly corrupted. The time would have come when crimes that would have been inconceivable to an innocent youngster would have been easily comprehended by a hardened assassin who had done something only a little less worse on his previous mission. Do not be deceived by my ethereal appearance, Master Baggins! It is within me to do evil. Thankfully, I have been spared the ordeal that you suffered, and so this capacity has remained hidden. At least," he added, smiling a little, "it has never shown itself in any guise worse than the mischievousness with which I have plagued my elders!"

"Yet you are not as evil as those folk who have a choice and elect to do wrong," argued the Hobbit. "Confronted with the choice between Isengard and Imladris, you did choose the latter. Your impulse toward goodness must have been larger than your capacity for evil."

"I am convinced," replied Legolas, "that folk who behave evilly oftentimes are persuaded that they have no choice but to do so. They may be wrong in their persuasion, but that is what they believe. On other occasions, they may believe that they are in fact making the right choice."

Frodo grimaced. "By your way of thinking, I do not see how we can ever hold anyone accountable for his actions. According to your estimation, folk do wrong either because they have no choice, believe they have no choice, or believe themselves to be making the right choice. How can anyone ever be blamed?"

"Is it necessary to blame? I would rather that blame were made superfluous. Make certain that folk have choices, make certain that they _know_ they have choices, and make certain that they know how to choose wisely. Were these steps to be taken, then the only evildoers would be those few who lack a conscience—for just as the body may be defective, so may the mind be. A small number of folk do lack the capacity to feel for the sufferings of others and may indeed take pleasure in witnessing or even inflicting pain and fear upon their fellows. Yet how are we to recognize these truly dangerous folk when ordinary people in their confusion are driven to do wrong?"

"What should be the fate of such evildoers?" Frodo asked. "If they lack a conscience, are not they, too, blameless?"

"I did not say they were to be blamed," Legolas replied. "But we have the right to defend ourselves. If it be possible, we ought to strive to cultivate a conscience in those that lack one. Failing that, such folk ought to be locked up in the most secure of prisons. If that is not feasible, then they must be slain. I would see this done not out of vengeance, nor even in order to punish such folk. I would see it done as an act of self-defense, taken when all other measures have failed."

"Your people did not slay Gollum but rather imprisoned him after Gandalf had gleaned all he could from the wretched creature," Frodo observed, "and in the end that act redounded upon your heads, for Gollum conspired with evil creatures and Orcs came upon his guards and slew them. Are you not sorry that you treated him so kindly?"

Legolas shook his head. "We had a choice to show mercy or not show mercy. That we showed mercy was not only for his benefit but ours."

"I do not see that there was any benefit to be gained."

"Had you a choice, what sort of person would you wish to be, Frodo? Would you not prefer to be a person who shows mercy to a wretched creature rather than the person who slays such a creature when it is not certain that there is a need to commit an act so final?"

"But the affair turned out badly," Frodo argued.

"It was impossible to predict how matters would turn out," Legolas replied, "for not even Galadriel can be certain of the future. We could only make the decision that seemed right at the time. However, as we are talking about what may ultimately ensue from an act, then you must concede that in that sense the decision to spare Gollum's life turned out to be the 'right' one; for in the end he played his part in the Quest. Had we slain him, he would not have been able to assist in the destruction of the Ring. But we could foresee neither the good nor the ill that would arise from our mercy toward Gollum, and I do not say that the rightness or wrongness of our action should be judged by the events that followed."

"You have the right of it, seemingly," Frodo conceded. "Your motives were good and just, and you had no control over what might ensue. As folk say, you did the best you could under the circumstances."

"As did you," Legolas pointed out, "and you certainly persevered longer than many would have if they had been given the same task and faced the same obstacles."

"I suppose what you say is true," Frodo said thoughtfully. Unconsciously, he straightened his shoulders, never having realized that he had been slumped against the wall.

"Then we are agreed," said Legolas. "Good. Now will you tell me the particulars of your experience in this cave?"

"I think I would not mind now," Frodo said. "I feared that Faramir would take the Ring. As I recoiled from him, I felt myself filled with hate and fear, desperation and desire. I thought that if I should have looked in a mirror, I should have seen the face of Gollum staring back at me."

"Gandalf has told me that Gollum's folk were akin to your people," Legolas observed. "Is it surprising, then, that you should find a Gollum-like creature inside yourself?"

"No, I reckon it was not surprising. Nor was it surprising that I should have seen myself within Gollum. I sorrow over that the most, I think. I wanted to save that bit of myself within Gollum—that part of him that had once been Sméagol."

Frodo had moved away from the wall. He was pacing back and forth, his voice low but passionate. "When had Gollum last taken pleasure in the Spring, in the orchards in blossom? When had he last taken joy in birds nesting in hazel thickets? When had he last seen the sowing of the summer barley in the lower fields and looked forward with anticipation to the beer that would be brewed from it, beer that he would share with his fellows in a tavern filled with laughter and song?"

Frodo stopped abruptly and looked at Legolas. "Strawberries and cream," the Hobbit said abruptly. "I know he can't have remembered eating the first of the strawberries and cream. I know _I_ didn't. At the end I could not recall the taste of food, nor the sound of water or the touch of grass."

"And you believe that there was a chance that Gollum could have recovered his delight in such pleasures?"

"There were times when I thought so. But it was at this place that all chance of that was lost. Gollum believed that I had betrayed him, Legolas, and from that point on there was no saving him, I think."

"And did you betray him?"

"I didn't mean to, but I could see how he would think so. He was paddling about in the pool below the waterfall. It was forbidden for strangers to come so close to this sanctuary, and Faramir's Men would have shot him. Instead, I offered to lure him to the edge of the pool so that they might seize him. Legolas, I was trying to save his life, but I do not think he saw it that way."

"As my people did in sparing his life, you did what you thought best. Your motives, like ours, were good and just. His reaction to what you did, that you could not control. You are responsible for your own thoughts and actions, not those of others."

Legolas noticed that Elrohir had wandered near, and he dropped his voice.

"We may speak more of this later, if you wish."

"Thank you, Legolas. You have been a good friend to me—to all of us. I shall miss you when I return to the Shire."

"And I you."

The others had joined Elrohir by now, and the company began to climb down from the cave. Merry and Pippin were chattering cheerfully. Sam was silent, watching Frodo anxiously. As for the Ring-bearer, he rubbed his shoulder from time to time. Still, he did not seem to have any difficulty in climbing down the path.

'It is not his body that has suffered the most grievous injury', Legolas thought to himself.

When they had regained the bank beside the pool, Gandalf came to walk beside Legolas. "I am not the only one who shall not remain long in Middle-earth," the Istar quietly said. Legolas nodded, suddenly understanding anew how needful it was that the wizard journey to the Grey Havens. 'Much remains to me in Arda', the Elf thought to himself, 'but Frodo has lost all. What he wanted for Gollum—delight in sunshine and birdsong and summer fruits and autumn harvest—these things he himself has forfeited. I am glad he will have Gandalf, though, for no doubt the two will journey together. Bilbo will accompany Frodo as well, I am sure. Two Ring-bearers and the wizard who mentored them both'

"You are a good lad," said Gandalf, giving him a knowing look. "I have always told folk that you are generous, and now you have proved me right. A lesser soul would resent the fact that Frodo and Bilbo and I will journey together to Mithlond."

"I am glad for Frodo's sake; for my part, I am still unhappy that you must depart," Legolas replied.

"Yet you accept that I must and do not rail against our respective fates. That is enough to go on."

"To go on," Legolas said wryly. "You have always been so clever in your choice of words. I am to go on."

Beside him, Gandalf chuckled. Legolas rolled his eyes, something he had lately been doing with increasing frequency. 'I shall have to break myself of this habit before I return to Rivendell', he chided himself, 'else I shall be subjected to Erestor's endless lecturing. I do not know that I shall ever persuade him that I am no longer an elfling!'

By now they had come to Frodo and Sam's shelter, where they intended to take their evening meal. To Legolas's surprise, he saw Elrohir seat himself beside Frodo rather than by Éomer, who had become his boon companion. Quietly, Legolas sat a little behind the Elf and the Hobbit. Elrohir glanced over his shoulder at Legolas, nodded at him, and then spoke softly to Frodo, but not so softly that the Mirkwood Elf was unable to hear.

"Your pardon, Frodo," Elrohir began. "In the cave I overhead some of your conversation with Legolas."

"We said nothing objectionable, I hope."

"No, but your words put me in mind of something that happened to me when I was young in the eyes of my people. I think you would find the tale interesting."

"I would be glad to hear it, then."

"One of the first campaigns in which I fought," Elrohir began, "was at the Battle of Dol Guldur, where Men and Elves joined forces to drive the Necromancer from that fortress."

"The Necromancer whom we now know to have been Sauron?"

"Yes, Frodo, the same. I went to that place eagerly, for I hoped to avenge Celebrían, my mother, who had been captured by Orcs and hurt so badly that she sailed for the West, in her anguish giving up the joy of motherhood that should have been hers. Sadly, in the second skirmish of that campaign my captain, Taurmeldir, was slain safeguarding the retreat of young Elves such as myself. The morning after the second skirmish, I sat brooding by the campfire. In both skirmishes, I had slain several Orcs, but I didn't feel any closer to achieving vengeance for my mother. 'And now', I thought bitterly, 'there is Taurmeldir to avenge as well'."

"I asked myself why I could feel no satisfaction in having felled several of the creatures whose kind had tormented my mother and butchered Taurmeldir. 'Perhaps', I mused, 'it is because I haven't had time to exult. In a battle, everything happens so quickly. Having slain one enemy, I must turn to the next. I wish I had time to relish the death of each Orc who falls to my sword. Yes, that must be it; I am never able to take pleasure in the killing of my enemies. It happens; it is over'."

"I stood up, clenching and unclenching my hands. 'I am going to _enjoy_ the next skirmish'," I swore to myself."

"The next battle, however, was long in coming. For two nights we were assaulted by nothing more than an eerie mist that the power in Dol Guldur could summon and dismiss at will. The third night, Orcs and wargs engaged in several sorties that proved to be no more than feints meant either to unnerve us or to test our defenses. I could only wait in frustration, and my rage grew by the minute. I could not understand how Elladan could sit so calmly, polishing his blades, checking the fletching of his arrows, all the while talking quietly with Legolas and our friends Thoron, and Baramagor as if they were sitting in the armory at Rivendell preparing for an inspection by Glorfindel."

"On the fourth night, I finally had a chance to put my resolution into effect. The mist began to creep toward us, and this time shrieks and howls could be heard as we fired into the vapors."

"'At last', I exulted, 'at last I shall wreak my vengeance'. At first, though, vengeance continued to elude me. No sooner did I hack down one foe, than another came at me. In the end, however, the number of Orcs had been so diminished that I was able to skewer one of the beasts without another one immediately taking its place. I let the battle roll on past me and paused to relish my kill."

"It was then that I realized that the Orc still lived. My sword stroke had broken its hip and exposed its guts, but it still breathed. Moreover, it was conscious."

"Breathing hard, I stood over the wounded Orc. The creature, although helpless, snarled up at me. I am sure that anyone would have thought that I was snarling myself, my lips curling back from my teeth as I glared down at my foe."

"'I am going to have so much fun finishing you off'," I taunted my enemy. The Orc could not have known any words of Elvish, but my face and voice must have made my meaning clear. I had the satisfaction of seeing a look of fear spread over the creature's face."

"'Oh, yes', I gloated, 'I have been looking forward to this moment for a long time—and I'm going to make it last'. I prodded my prone victim with my sword and was pleased when it yelped in pain."

"But it was another cry of pain that brought me back to my senses. Instantly forgetting the wounded Orc, I spun around and in a panic looked about the field for my twin.

'Elladan', I shouted. 'Elladan, where are you!?' I caught sight of my brother desperately trying to fend off three Orcs. His shoulder had been slashed, and blood ran from the wound down his side as far as his thigh."

"My next actions were prompted only by fear for my brother, and though my actions were violence, there was nothing of vengeance about them. I charged across the field, and thrust my sword completely through one Orc and then stabbed a second in the throat. The third Orc spun about and raised his scimitar but never had a chance to bring it down. I hacked the Orc's hand clean from its wrist, and the severed claw fell into the dirt still scrabbling at its weapon. Before the Orc even had a chance to react to that injury, I had gutted him."

"Elladan meanwhile had collapsed to the ground. His eyes were closed, his face pale, and his head flopped to one side. I knelt beside him and, seizing his uninjured shoulder, shook him. By then, Thoron, Baramagor, and Legolas, who had seen Elladan fall, had crossed the battlefield and reached us. Thoron and Baramagor calmed me and helped me tend to my brother. Legolas, meanwhile, ran to fetch Elrond and Mithrandir."

"By the time Legolas returned with my father and Mithrandir, Elladan had come out of his faint. He still looked a little pale, but he was swearing that he would be able to sit up if only my friends and I would let him. We had insisted, however, that he wait until a healer had looked him over. When Elrond did examine him, he declared himself satisfied with the measures that we had been taken."

"As we Hobbits say, then, 'All's well as end's well'," said Frodo, distressed at the haunted expression that had come over Elrohir's face as the Elf had told the story.

"Oh, it ended well," agreed Elrohir, "at least as far as Elladan was concerned. He wasn't hurt as badly as I had feared, and he contrived to return to the battle, even though our father tried to have him evacuated with the other injured. In fact, he accompanied a small picked group of Elves that under Gandalf's leadership crept by secret paths into Dol Guldur itself and so drove the enemy from his sanctuary. But I didn't tell you the story for its happy ending. No, rather it is because you of all folk must understand the significance of what transpired that day. You saw yourself in Gollum; I saw myself in an Orc. In truth, many a day passed before I could look into a pond or a mirror and not see a snarling face glaring back at me. Had I not also seen myself reflected in another face, a gentle face, I fear I should have been lost."

"Your twin, you mean."

"Aye, my brother Elladan. I nearly lost him because of my anger and hate, but he it was who helped me to set those emotions aside. He brought me back to myself—to the self I wished to be, anyway, for I often fear that still within me lies a heart of darkness that would show itself if I let it."

"I think Sam was my Elladan," Frodo said thoughtfully. "So many times I was ready to give way to despair. Always Sam called me back—reminded me of who I was—or who I wanted to be, as you say. I remember one day in particular, when I said I could not go on. 'I can't do this, Sam'," I cried, and he said that he knew, that it was all wrong. 'By rights, we shouldn't even be here', he said. 'But we are', he went on. Frodo's voice changed, and it was as if Sam were speaking. "'It's like in the great stories', he declaimed. "The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end—because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was—when so much bad had happened?" Suddenly Frodo inhaled sharply, his voice catching, and Legolas knew that the Hobbit was crying. Then after a minute he went on, his voice now his own once more. "But in the end, it's only a passing thing—this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines, it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you—that meant something. Even if you were too small to understand why. But I think I do understand. I know now."

"What do you know?" Elrohir said softly.

"Sam said folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going—because they were holding on to something."

"What were they holding on to, Frodo?"

"That there's some good in this world, Elrohir. And it's worth fighting for—only, only I don't think I shall have much of an opportunity to enjoy it. But it is some consolation to know that it is exists and that I helped preserve it."

Frodo paused and a look of mingled surprise and relief passed over his face. "Do you know, Elrohir," he went on, "I am _glad_ for Sam and the others. I don't grudge them the enjoyment of a happiness that shall be denied to me. Sméagol might have been able to say something similar once upon a time, but Gollum never would have. I guess that proves that I am _not_ Gollum—or, rather, that I am more Sméagol than Gollum. For a time it did become hard to sort out the two of us—or the three of us!—and I reckon either of them _could_ have been my twin, but in the end it is Sméagol that I am most akin to—as you are more akin to Elladan than any Orc!"

Sitting nearby, Legolas slowly exhaled, for without noticing he had been holding his breath. Quietly, he rose to his feet and slipped from the tent.


	44. Chapter 44: The Fruits of Victory

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers:**_** The Inebriated Lion-Minion, Ilada'Jefiv, Foxgurl0000, Lonekit of Thunderclan, RumorUnderOath, vectis, and CAH**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Lord of the Rings.**_

**Beta Reader: **_**Dragonfly**_

**Chapter 44: The Fruits of Victory**

Gimli watched with satisfaction as the Southron chiseled at the edge of a block until it was perfectly beveled. "You have done excellent work, Peter," he said approvingly. "Now that stone will fit flawlessly atop the wall."

"Thank you, Master Gimli," Peter said. He moved toward another block.

"Nay, leave off," called Gimli. "It is time for the noon meal." He gestured toward a hamper that lay in the shade. Joined by others—Southrons, Easterlings, and Men of Gondor—the Man and Dwarf sat side by side enjoying a repast of apples, bread, and cheese washed down with cider from bottles kept cool in their wrappings of wet cloth. Gimli sighed in satisfaction as he set down his mug.

"Good stone, good food, good cider," he declared.

"It is all good," agreed the Man.

"As I recall," chuckled Gimli, "the stone was not always to your liking."

"True," Peter acknowledged, "but I have discovered that I prefer carving stone to carving Men. Indeed, Master Gimli, now you mention it, I would make bold to ask you to put in a word for me with Faramir the Steward. I know that we Men of Harad are to be sent home after the coronation of the King, but if it would be permitted, I would like to stay on as an apprentice stonemason."

"Why apprentice?" said Gimli. "You have the skills of a journeyman."

"You think so?"

"Aye, I do. I think it could be arranged that you stay on as a wage worker. Then, if you marshal your coins wisely, you will be a master yourself soon enough."

"I have already put some money aside," the Man said excitedly. "I have spent but few of the coins we are given each week. Indeed, there was no need to part with them, for our food and lodgings are charged to the City."

"That did not prevent your fellows from finding ways to squander their earnings," Gimli pointed out dryly.

"Not all of them," Peter rejoined. "Not even most of them. The ones who wasted their wealth were very public in their profligacy. You would not have noticed the ones who stayed quietly in their quarters."

"True. Well, Peter, I shall speak to Faramir. I shall recommend you to him for both your character as well as your skill."

Gimli rose to his feet. "I have an errand," he called to the company. "Peter shall direct you in my absence. He knows well how the stones are to be set."

The other Men nodded approvingly. Peter was well liked, and Gimli suspected that the few coins that Peter had parted with had gone to assure the comfort of certain of the Men who had lost their packs during the Battle of the Pelennor Field. The City saw to their necessities but did not provide the prisoners with what could be considered luxuries in a time of dearth. Thus each Man had been furnished with a comb and a blanket and a pallet, but any Man desiring a pillow or an extra blanket or additional toiletries had to purchase them out of his weekly allowance.

Gimli had been given the freedom of the City and walked confidently past the checkpoints until he reached Faramir's dwelling. There he was introduced at once into Faramir's private quarters, where he found not only Faramir but Éomer and Éowyn. The three were lingering over their own noon meal, and Faramir invited Gimli to join them. The Dwarf had of course already eaten, but he said to himself that it would be discourteous to turn down the invitation. (Gimli was always courteous when it came to meals.)

"Well, my friend," said Faramir when they had finished dining, "what brings you to my dwelling? It must be something important to take you away from the stonework that you are so fond of."

"Indeed, it is on account of the stonework. It is well begun, and I am sure that you wish it continue in the same vein, if you will pardon the pun."

"I do, and I will," replied Faramir. "No doubt you come with advice as to how it is to be sustained."

"You are most perceptive, my Lord Faramir," Gimli answered, inclining his head. Looking on, both Éowyn and Éomer grinned at Gimli's performance. Whatever it was Gimli wanted, they were sure he would get it. The Dwarf had his own special variety of charm.

"Now, one must concede," Gimli continue, "that the work depends upon the workman. A workman of little skill produces work of little worth; contra, a workman of great skill produces work of great worth."

"Aragorn said you were a philosopher," Faramir smiled. "But come, Gimli, tell me what it is that you desire."

Gimli looked disappointed. "That's done it, Faramir!" he exclaimed. "Where is the fun in just up and asking for something?"

Faramir, Éomer, and Éowyn burst into laughter, and after a moment, Gimli joined them.

"Hasty human, that is what an Ent or an Elf would call you, Faramir," he chuckled. "Very well, then. One of the Haradrim begs leave to remain behind in Minas Tirith when his fellows depart. He is not only a good worker but a good Man. Now, I know my kinsfolk will arrive soon, but there is much stonework needs doing. Even with the assistance of my kinsfolk, repairs will proceed slowly, let alone the new construction. We could use every hand, be it that of a Dwarf, a Southron, or a Man of Gondor."

"This Man," began Faramir.

"Peter," said Gimli.

"Peter," continued Faramir. "He wishes to remain of his own free will?"

"Well, _I_ haven't threatened him."

"I didn't think you had, Gimli. But it is important that no rumors of ill-treatment be carried back to Harad, for it is Aragorn's hope that our humane treatment of the prisoners will allay the suspicions of our erstwhile enemies. It must be understood by all that Peter does not remain here as a slave."

"He will be no slave. Indeed, he won't even be bound as an apprentice. I will stand guarantor that his skills warrant his employment as a journeyman. Aye, and he has saved money toward the bond that would be required were he to become a master in the stonemasons' guild. After he has served some time as a journeyman, I myself would be glad to advance him the coins he would need to make up the difference—if he even has need of such assistance, for he is frugal."

"You have great confidence in this Man."

"I do," Gimli said firmly. "Why, in the matter of the chisel, he is practically a Dwarf!"

"Forsooth, a great compliment," Faramir said, smiling. "Well, even though Peter is only practically a Dwarf and not a Dwarf indeed, I will grant your petition."

Gimli arose to his feet and gave a sweeping bow. "O steward most worthy, may you live long and prosper."

"And you likewise," came the formal response, but Faramir was grinning.

"You must know, Faramir," Éowyn said after Gimli had departed, "that you will soon have to answer many such petitions."

"Why do you say this?"

"Once the Haradrim hear that Peter has been given leave to stay, others among them will desire the same boon."

"My sister is right," Éomer joined in. "I warrant that many of these supposed prisoners are better off now than they were when they left their lands. It will occur to some of them that remaining in Gondor would be preferable to returning to their homes."

"I will speak of the matter to Aragorn," Faramir said thoughtfully. "It is within my purview to grant the petition of one Man, but if a number apply to remain in Gondor, it becomes a matter of state."

Just then someone knocked upon the doorframe.

"Enter," called Faramir.

Gamling stepped into the room and bowed.

"My Lord Faramir, my Lord Éomer, my Lady Éowyn."

"It is good that it is only we three," jested Éomer. "If Aragorn and Imrahil and Gandalf and others of the great folk were here, then Gamling would still be reciting their names come supper."

"Oh, I would not," Gamling replied lightly. "If there were more than you three, I would say, 'My Lords and my Lady'. For it is said that brevity is the soul of wit, and tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes."

"By all means, then, omit the limbs and outward flourishes and give us wit unadorned," laughed Éomer. "Your errand, Gamling?"

"The Riders have finished practicing the new cavalry maneuvers and are ready for review."

Éomer rose eagerly to his feet. "Faramir, Éowyn, I would ask you to join me, but it is very hot outside, and Gandalf has said that you should both have a care for your health for a little while longer."

Faramir and Éowyn both assured him that they did not mind in the least remaining within, and Éomer and Gamling departed.

Once outside, Gamling expressed surprise. "You would leave Éowyn alone with Faramir?"

"Truly, Gamling, do you think the slayer of a nazgûl and a ringwraith has need of a chaperone?"

"Well, then, maybe Faramir needs one! Can he stand up to Éowyn?"

"Oh, I certainly hope so," smirked Éomer.

"My Lord," spluttered Gamling, caught between amusement and astonishment. Éomer burst into laughter at his expression and clapped him on the back. "Gamling," he said when they had both recovered, "remember that Faramir did not take the Ring when he had an opportunity. I think that he can be trusted not to take anything from Éowyn that he ought not."

Inside, Faramir was doing his best to live up to Éomer's expectations. A servant had brought a platter of fruit as a conclusion to their meal, and Faramir gestured to it. "My Lady, would you have some fruit?"

"An apple, if you please."

Faramir placed an apple upon a tiny salver and handed it to her along with a small knife. "Will you not have any fruit yourself, my Lord?" she asked as she sliced the apple.

"I will have a cherry," he said, reaching toward the platter. "No," he exclaimed, blushing. "I had better not have a cherry. A pear. I like that shape. No, not a pear, neither! A melon, then. No! Not melon!"

"Perhaps we should share this apple," Éowyn suggested. Faramir opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak, Éowyn had slipped a slice of apple between his lips. For a moment his mouth remained agape in surprise, but then he recovered and began to savor the fruit.

"Mmmm," he murmured. "It tastes like you, my Lady, for it is both tart and sweet." Then he blushed. "I mean no offense, my Lady."

Éowyn smiled and handed him a slice.

"Would you like to slip one between my lips?" she asked.

"Yes. I mean, no! I mean, an apple, yes."

Tentatively, he held the apple to her lips. She parted them, and he slipped it inside.

"Mmmmm," she murmured.

Standing outside, his hand raised to knock upon the doorframe, Legolas hesitated.

'Perhaps', he said to himself, 'this is not a good time to ask Faramir to look in on the progress of the garden next the House of Healing'. Grinning, he returned to the garden. Lying on the grass, he laced his hands behind his head and contentedly watched the clouds drift across the sky. After some time had passed, he heard footfalls upon the grass. Turning his head, he saw Faramir. Smiling, he arose to his feet. "Faramir, I am glad you are here, for I had planned to ask you to approve the outlay of further monies for the gardens. Now, in this garden I should like to plant several cherry trees. In the spring their blossoms are most beautiful, and their fruit is desirable, for it is both tart and sweet."

"Both tart and sweet," murmured Faramir. He appeared somewhat distracted.

"Do _you_ like cherries?" asked Legolas with a straight face.

"Cherries," echoed Faramir dreamily.

"Of course," continued Legolas, "pear trees would flourish here as well. Perhaps I should plant pear trees. Do you like pears, Faramir?"

"Pears," echoed Faramir, whose expression, truth be told, had now gone from dreamy to silly.

"On the other hand," Legolas went on, "I could plant various ground covers. Melon vines spread well, the leaves are large, and the fruit is copious—the large globes sweet and succulent."

Faramir's eyes suddenly came into focus. He looked suspiciously at the Elf.

"Legolas, what are you going on about?"

"Fruit," Legolas said in his most innocent voice.

"Elladan and Elrohir have told me," Faramir said, smiling now, "that you are at your most mischievous when you look the most innocent."

"The same charge could be laid at their door," retorted Legolas, smiling likewise. "But tell me, Faramir, do you not desire to pluck fruit presently?"

"I confess that I do, although I am not sure how to go about planting the seed that shall bring about the fruition of my hopes."

"Have you not already planted a seed, Faramir?"

"Not _that_ seed, Legolas!" Faramir said hastily. "I should not be so disrespectful to Éowyn!"

"I did not mean that seed, Faramir. For if you had planted that seed out of season, Éomer might take it ill."

Like the Catastrophe of the old Comedy, the Man just mentioned strode through the garden gate. Legolas grinned; Faramir paled.

"Éowyn said I might find you here, Faramir," called Éomer, "and, Legolas, I am not surprised to see you here as well."

"Éowyn," echoed Faramir. At the mention of the Lady of Rohan, he regained his color and the silly look returned to his face. Legolas had to struggle to keep from giggling.

"Yes, Éowyn," rejoined Éomer, who was likewise struggling to keep a straight face. "She said you had some matter to discuss with me—something about some enterprise coming to fruition."

"Fruition," repeated Faramir, his expression once again dreamy. Legolas rolled his eyes meaningfully at Éomer. "I must go to the garden next the Library to water a newly planted bush," the Elf announced.

"Bush," murmured Faramir.

"Faramir," Éomer said loudly. Faramir jumped a little and blushed. "Not bush. Wasn't thinking of bushes!"

"Not today you hadn't better be thinking of bushes!" said Éomer. He adopted a tone of mock-warning tone, but smiled as he did so.

Legolas had reached the gate by now. He looked back once, grinned, and strode off.

That evening, when Legolas arrived at the dinner, everyone was talking of the festivities that would follow the coronation. "Legolas," exclaimed Gimli when the Elf took his seat by his friend, "do you know that after Aragorn is crowned there will be not one but two weddings?"

"Two weddings? Arwen will journey from Imladris to marry Aragorn, and—"

"Faramir and Éowyn are to wed," Gimli finished triumphantly.

Just then a servant came up bearing a platter of fruit. He bowed and proffered it to Legolas. "With the compliments of my Lord Faramir," he announced.

"Ah," enthused Gimli, reaching for a cherry, "I haven't had one of these in a while."

Sitting nearby, Elrohir smirked. "You haven't, Gimli? I _am_ sorry."

"It's no matter, Elrohir," Gimli replied cheerfully. "Cherries are just one of those things one must forego in a time of war. Would you like one?"

"Those are _my_ cherries," protested Legolas. "Let Elrohir find his own!"

"For shame, Legolas," scolded Gimli. "I have always been told that you are generous, yet you will not share these cherries with your own foster-brother."

"Yes, Legolas," grinned Elladan. "You must not deny Elrohir his cherries."

"A little decorum, if you please," growled a voice from several seats away. Turning, the Elves and the Dwarf saw Gandalf glowering at them.

"But, Gandalf," Elrohir said innocently, "we were merely having a fruitful discussion on the merits of sharing."

"I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with cherry-obsessed younglings," retorted the wizard. "Pass that platter onward, as it is plain you would rather talk about cherries than enjoy them."

"Not so," protested Gimli. "_I_ enjoy cherries at every opportunity."

Merry and Pippin had been following this conversation with hands over their mouths to stifle their laughter, but now they exploded in merriment, giggling so hard that they both slid off their seats.

Gandalf glowered all the more fiercely, and Legolas decided that it was time to channel the conversation in another direction. "Aragorn," he said, "has Gimli told you of the desire of Peter the Stonemason to dwell in Minas Tirith?"

"Yes," Aragorn replied, "and Faramir tells me that others of the prisoners may wish to remain in Gondor."

"Will you grant any such petitions?"

"Yes, but first they must return to their homelands. It shall be plain to all that they were not held captive past the time set by the treaty of peace. Once they are in their homelands, if they choose to emigrate hence with their families, they will be welcome."

"They cannot all be stonemasons I suppose, Aragorn."

"No. Do you want some detailed to you as gardeners?"

"Aye, Aragorn. I know that my father has promised that some Elves will journey hence from Mirkwood, but they will not be willing to settle in the City. No, they shall dwell in Ithilien. For the City gardens, Men are needful."

"Very well, Legolas. When these Men return to Minas Tirith, I shall ask Faramir to assign to you such of them as are well suited to cultivation. No doubt," Aragorn added, smiling, "you shall set them to planting cherry trees and pear trees and melon vines."

Legolas groaned and shot a quick glance at Gandalf. Fortunately, the wizard was deep in conversation with Imrahil and did not notice that the subject of fruit had arisen once again. "I think," said Legolas quietly, "that any further conversation on this subject will be—"

"Fruitless," finished Aragorn, grinning fiercely.

"Ar-a-gorn," said Legolas through gritted teeth.

Still grinning, Aragorn picked up an apple and bit into it. "Do you know," he said, after swallowing a mouthful, "that some Men say that evil came into the world on account of a piece of fruit."

"A piece of fruit? What an odd notion!"

"Perhaps not so odd."

"But, Aragorn, how could a piece of fruit be evil?"

"I did not say that the fruit was evil in and of itself. It was the eating of it that was evil. Or, rather, the yielding to the temptation to eat it."

Legolas considered. "From what you say," he said thoughtfully, "it sounds as if the fruit was a symbol of how desire may corrupt."

Aragorn nodded. "That is how I always took the story, and others like it. One might say," he added, smiling a little, "that ancient tales are most likely to bear fruit if they are read with an eye to metaphor."

"Someday our tale will be an ancient one," Legolas pointed out, ignoring the pun. "Do you suppose folk will find the people and events to be symbolic of anything?"

"Most assuredly," said Aragorn, serious now. "The One Ring will be taken to be an object akin to the piece of fruit, a symbol of desire and corruption, and our Frodo will be a sort of Everyman."

"An Everyman?"

"Yes, for Frodo was in many ways unremarkable. That is, he was an ordinary person before circumstances dictated that he it was must needs struggle against temptation and so save us all. Thus he in his small person was any man and every man."

"If Frodo was Everyman, then so was Gollum," Legolas observed, thinking back to Sam's account of how Gollum had appeared to be struggling with himself when he had grappled with an invisible Frodo.

"Aye, that is true. Frodo showed the courage and goodness that may lie within every man; Gollum, on the other hand, revealed the cowardice and greed of which all men are capable. Together they encompassed all that might be."

"Do you suppose, Aragorn," mused Legolas, "that our tale will be one of the great stories?"

"One of the great stories?"

"Yes, one of the tales that really matter."

"If it is told well and told often. It certainly contains the elements that one would expect to find in a great story."

"Then I hope it is told well and told often. I should like to think that you and I and Gimli will live on in Middle-earth, and that will only happen if our story survives our sojourn here."

Aragorn looked surprised and then a little sad.

"I am sorry, Aragorn," Legolas apologized. "I should not distress you with thoughts of mortality when you ought to be anticipating your coronation and your marriage."

Aragorn shook his head. "I am not distressed on my account but on yours. You have put me in mind of something Gandalf said. He told me that by the time my grandson ascends the throne, the last Dwarf shall have returned to the earth from which he sprang, and the last Elf shall have passed beyond the Grey Havens. The Hobbits, he said, would perhaps linger a little longer, but in the end Man would be left in sole possession of this land. Gandalf said he told you that by your agency the future of Elves, Dwarves, and Hobbits would be assured but that in time you would come to understand that for those folk song must be the final sanctuary. Now I see that you already understand this. Does not this knowledge make you sad?"

"A little," Legolas admitted. "But," he continued, "you yourself will someday face death, and by your example I mean to bravely face a lesser loss. Moreover," the Elf added, "like Frodo I may console myself with the knowledge that others shall enjoy this land and that I played a hand in securing their happiness."

Aragorn shook his head, marveling. "Legolas," he began, "As Gimli has observed, it is often said that you are—"

"Generous," finished Legolas, smiling as he seized the opportunity to banter. He lifted his wine glass. "Come, Aragorn, enough of these doleful reflections. Let us toast poetry and song, in which a man may achieve immortality."

"Ah, the toasting has begun," Éomer exclaimed eagerly when he saw the Elf take hold of his glass. He held his own goblet aloft. "Elrohir, there is no longer any excuse to put off our contest. We are safe in Minas Tirith and have no obligations early on the morrow. Faramir, will you join in the game?"

"Faramir was just about to escort me to the garden," Éowyn interjected hastily. Obligingly, Faramir arose and extended his hand to his betrothed. Aragorn, too, excused himself and left the room in company with Imrahil and Gandalf, the latter muttering something about the irrepressibility of youth. Elladan and Gimli remained, however, as did the Hobbits. The Dwarf and Elrohir's twin both declared their intention of joining in the game, as did Merry and Pippin on condition that they be allowed to match one glass for two, an arrangement the other participants found agreeable. As for Sam and Frodo, they were appointed referees, for both declared that they wanted no drink stronger than watered wine.

For the other guests servants fetched bottles of the most potent vintages to be found in the wine cellars of Minas Tirith. Slates and chalk were also fetched, for Sam and Frodo were to keep tallies rather than rely upon the counting of goblets. "This glassware would not survive the evening were it to be piled upon the table," Éomer observed. "Not like the sturdy mugs we make use of at Meduseld. So it is one goblet per drinker, and if you break it, you forfeit."

Goblets in hand, the guests began the game. "A toast to Aragorn and Arwen," proclaimed Legolas.

"Wes hal!" exclaimed the company before each downed the contents of his cup. Quickly the servants refilled the goblets (or, in the case of the Hobbits, half-filled them).

"A toast to Faramir and Éowyn," declared Éomer.

"Wes hal!" came the response, and the second cup was drained.

"To Gandalf the White Rider," offered Pippin.

"Wes hal!"

The toasts came fast and furious. To Frodo! To Sam! To Théoden! To Haldir! To Galadriel! (the latter proposed by Gimli). After an hour of tossing back goblet after goblet of wine, Merry and Pippin appealed to Frodo and Sam that the game be halted long enough for the participants to make water. The referees made a show of deliberating whilst Merry and Pippin grew increasingly fidgety until each like a stork stood one-legged, one limb twined about the other. At last Frodo and Sam agreed that the game might cease for a time, and Merry and Pippin scurried from the room in search of the garderobe. The others left the chamber at a statelier pace, but it is reported that Elladan and Elrohir scuffled for priority when they reached the necessary. It is moreover said that Gimli insinuated a foot into Legolas's path so that the Elf stumbled, a misstep that allowed the Dwarf to get ahead of him in the line. As for Éomer, it is remarked that he took advantage of Elladan and Elrohir's scuffling in order to precede both of them into the chamber of relief.

When the company reassembled in the dining hall, it seemed that the break had had a deleterious effect upon the coordination of at least one Hobbit. "Oops!" exclaimed Pippin as his glass slipped from his fingers and shattered upon the floor. "Well, according to the rules, I'm out," he said cheerfully. 'Éomer grinned wickedly. "We could ask Frodo and Sam to waive the rule," he smirked.

"Oh, no," Pippin exclaimed hastily. "I am all for fairness and abiding by agreed-upon terms." As he spoke, a second crash was heard, and now it was Merry's turn to announce a forfeit. "Pity," the Perian said blithely, "as I was just warming up." His flushed face perhaps spoke to the truth of those words.

Éomer, Legolas, Gimli and the twins now returned to the game. "To Edwen Nana, who would be horrified at our behavior," toasted Legolas. "To Erestor, likewise," proclaimed Elrohir. "To Gamling, who would not be horrified at all," offered Éomer. "To Glorfindel, who would put us all to shame," declared Elladan. "To King Dáin, ditto," Gimli chimed in. Then he belched, and some of the wine sloshed over the brim of his cup as he waved it in the air. "'S'good wine," he hiccoughed.

Several rounds later, the company lost another brave toper. "To Dwahfs whut go swimmin' wit lil' hawwy wimmin," Gimli slurred. Legolas and Éomer exchanged knowing glances at hearing the familiar phrase, and the Elf moved to stand behind his friend. A few seconds later, the Dwarf toppled over backwards. Legolas caught him, and with the aid of the twins, Gimli was carried to a bench and gently laid upon it.

"Now it is down to three Elves and one Man," declared Frodo. "I say that the game is weighted against Éomer. Let the Elves choose a champion, and it shall be between him and the King of Rohan."

Legolas, Elladan, and Elrohir drew aside to debate who ought to represent their people. "I have matched cups with Éomer before," Legolas pointed out. "I have taken his measure, so I ought to be the one."

"But I have more experience in drinking games," Elrohir argued, "and you know I have outlasted both you and Elladan, as well as the Lórien brothers. "Only Glorfindel has ever bested me."

At length it was agreed that Elrohir would indeed be the elvish champion, and Éomer and his opponent sat facing one another on opposite sides of the table. With a flourish, Merry refilled Éomer's glass, and Pippin did likewise for Elrohir.

"To Eorl the Young, son of Léod," proclaimed Éomer, commencing with the first king of Rohan.

"To Fïnwe, first High King of the Noldor," rejoined Elrohir.

"To Brego, son of Eorl," came the reply.

"To Fingolfin, son of Fïnwe."

"To Aldor the Old, son of Brego."

"Turgon, son of Fingolfin."

"Fréa!"

"Idril"

"Fréawine!"

"Eärendil."

"Goldwine!"

Now at this point Elrohir confronted a dilemma. Since Elves are long-lived—immortal, really, barring accidents—their generations are few when compared with those of short-lived Men. After Eärendil, the only forefather Elrohir could toast would be his own father, whereas Eómer had remaining to him three kings of the first line of Rohirric rulers and eight kings of the second line. Elrohir supposed, though, that he could switch over to toasting Aragorn's ancestors, as they were all descended from his father's brother Elros. Still, they were considered Men, not Elves. He hesitated a moment. Then he grinned. "We are akin you and I," he proclaimed, "for we are both descended from rulers and eminent folk. Why, we may as well be brothers, alike in power and dignity, and I feel such fraternal affection for you that I am moved to show it." Swiftly, he reached over the table with both hands and seized Éomer's face on either side. Pulling the startled Man toward him, he planted a kiss first on one cheek and then on the other. "Paugh!" exclaimed Éomer, and in his confusion he dropped his glass. It shattered upon the floor.

Elrohir released him and sat back. "Why, Éomer, you needs must forfeit," he smirked. "What a pity, as the game was scarcely under way. I know _I_ should have been able to continue for several more hours. Still, it has been a pleasant evening, and one that has culminated in the recognition of our kinship. We are sworn-brothers now, is that not so?"

Éomer slumped in his chair and wiped a hand over his cheek. "Sworn-brothers, eh? I suppose that means it would be considered bad form to kill you."

Elrohir turned to Legolas. "What say you, Legolas? You have some experience in this matter, for Gimli is your sworn-brother, I believe."

"Yes, he is," said Legolas, "and I must confess that I have often been tempted to throttle him. However, it is indeed considered bad form to do so, and thus I have refrained."

Gimli chose this moment to let out a particularly loud snore, which was punctuated by what Men call a 'fart'.

"You show remarkable restraint, Legolas," Éomer said dryly, "and I suppose I should strive to emulate you." He turned to his erstwhile opponent. "Well played, Elrohir. I concede myself bested, but the sting of defeat is lessened by the fact that it was my _sworn-brother_ who carried the day. I am thus able to rejoice in the victory of a kinsman."

The company dissolved into laughter, and everyone conscious, even Frodo and Sam, indulged in a parting toast before withdrawing to their respective quarters.


	45. Chapter 45: The Return of the Elf

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**This chapter contains the remaining material from "The Return of the Elf."**

**Thanks to the following reviewers:**_** The Inebriated Lion-Minion, Ilada'Jefiv, Foxgurl0000, Lonekit of Thunderclan, RumorUnderOath, vectis, Elfinabottle, CAH, and TheHouseOfTheGoldenFlower**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter incorporates incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Lord of the Rings.**_

**Beta Reader: **_**Dragonfly**_

**Chapter 45: The Return of the Elf**

Gimli stared nervously at his reflection. "You think I look all proper-like, Legolas?"

"Yes, Gimli," the Elf reassured him.

"I hope I don't drop the crown," Gimli worried. "I don't know why you weren't asked to carry it in the procession."

"I must lead the elven delegation, Gimli. But do not worry, my friend. You have never dropped anything that really mattered."

"Dropped a tankard of beer just last week," the Dwarf pointed out.

"Yes, but you were drunk at the time. Are you planning to be inebriated at Aragorn's coronation?"

"Would feel easier in my mind if I were," Gimli muttered.

Legolas shook his head and smiled. Then he took his place before the mirror and adjusted the diadem that Thranduil's ambassador had brought, along with a letter from his father adjuring him to wear it, "and on your head, where it may be seen." Legolas grinned as he imagined his father studying how to word his instructions so that his son could find no way around them. 'No doubt he convened a council of his most astute negotiators', he laughed to himself.

A knock was heard. "Enter," Legolas called, and three Hobbits tumbled into the room, followed more slowly by a fourth. Frodo did not visibly ail, but he remained subdued in both speech and behavior.

"You look grand, Legolas," exclaimed Pippin. "And, Gimli, I have never seen you so elegant."

"Elegant," growled Gimli, pretending annoyance. "What am I—a prissy Elf!?"

Trumpets sounded. "We had best take our places," worried Sam. "Wouldn't do to be late for Aragorn's coronation."

"There is no way you could be late for Aragorn's coronation," came a voice from the doorway, "for it would never take place in your absence."

"Gandalf!" exclaimed Merry. "How splendid you look!"

Gandalf stepped into the room and made a show of preening until even Frodo was laughing. The wizard's performance was interrupted by another voice from the door.

"Your pardon," said Faramir, "but Aragorn was wondering whether the Fellowship had gone off on another Quest."

Chattering excitedly, Sam, Pippin, and Merry sallied forth, the others following at a more sedate pace. From time to time Sam would look back and gesture at Frodo to hurry, and the Ring-bearer would make an effort to catch up with the other Hobbits before slowing once more.

At length, all the members of the Fellowship arrived at the assembly point and were sorted into their places. Faramir excused himself and went to take his stand near the steps leading to the terrace where the ceremonial handing over of the rule of Gondor would take place. Aragorn had of course been reigning ever since the Army of the West had returned from Gondor, his official entry into Minas Tirith marked by a simple ceremony, the moving aside of a barricade at the behest of the gentlefolk of the City. With Faramir went Gimli and Gandalf, Gimli to hold the crown and Gandalf to place it upon Aragorn's head. The Hobbits were escorted by a marshal to a place of honor where they would have an unobstructed view of the ceremony, and where the crowd would have an unobstructed view of _them_, for to the folk of Gondor, the exotic Periannath were of no less interest than the mysterious heir of Isildur. As for Legolas, he went to join Elrohir, Elladan, and the elven ambassadors from Lothlórien and Mirkwood.

Legolas thought that he had greeted all the elven emissaries during the previous week, but of one Elf's arrival he was in ignorance. The story of this Elf's journey to the City of Minas Tirith was a complicated one that had begun on the battlefield before the ruined gates of Helm's Deep. For this was Haldir, the Elf who had nearly been immolated in a funeral pyre before the walls of that fortress. After his recovery, he had remained at Helm's Deep at the behest of Haleth son of Háma. There he had trained the boys and old Men who garrisoned that place until this ragtag force was skilled enough in warfare to have mounted a credible defense had the attack upon the fortress been renewed.

As he drilled these farmers and ploughboys, Haldir seemed content, but after dining each evening with Haleth, the Elf would walk for hours upon the battlements, gazing ever to the southeast, toward Gondor, and beyond that, to Mordor. During the day, a shadow hovered over those lands, and even at night the sky in that direction were an unnatural pitch-black, the stars obscured there but not elsewhere. One morning, however, the shadows dispersed, inky tendrils recoiling into the land of darkness from whence they had come. At length messengers arrived from Minas Tirith. Haleth listened to their words and then hastened to Haldir's chamber.

"Minas Tirith has withstood the siege of the forces of Mordor. But, alas, King Théoden has fallen!" the young Man declared.

"What of Aragorn and Legolas and the Dwarf?" Haldir demanded.

"Lord Aragorn and Prince Legolas still live, as does the Dwarf. They will now march upon Mordor!"

"Upon Mordor! Bring me my bow!"

"Nay, you must not! And even if you did, you would not arrive in time. The host will have left already."

The Elf grimaced.

"At least I may travel as far as Minas Tirith, there to await the outcome of the battle. I wish to stand and fall with my friends! If they are destroyed before the Gates of Mordor, then Minas Tirith shall not long outlast them."

The Elf was vehement in his desire to depart, and the healers reassured Haleth that Haldir might ride if he did not set too fast a pace. So it was that Haleth found himself standing upon the battlements, watching as the mounted figure slowly dwindled into the distance. But before the Elf had left, he had taught the youth one final phrase of elvish.

"Mellon," he said placing his hand upon the shoulder of the youth. "Friend. Mellon-nín. My friend."

As Haldir slowly rode toward Minas Tirith, Aragorn and his companions had been making their equally slow progress back toward the City. After the celebration upon the Field of Cormallen, they had decamped for Cair Andros. From thence the company had taken ship and so had returned to Minas Tirith by means of the Anduin. Several weeks after their return, Legolas had stood looking out from the ramparts of Minas Tirith. It was the eve before the day for which Aragorn, Elrond, and Gandalf had worked so long: the coronation of Aragorn, formerly Strider the Dúnadan, Ranger of the North, as King Elessar Telcontar of Gondor. The majesty of this event would hearken back to the days of legend, yea, even to those days before evil had been set loose upon Middle-earth. In anticipation, folk of many realms had crowded the city of Minas Tirith, all dressed in their finest weeds, hair adorned with garlands. Singing was heard, and laughter, and banners fluttered from every window. That night Aragorn had called his friends together for a feast. After awhile, however, Legolas had been seized by melancholy, and he slipped quietly away. Aragorn saw him depart the hall, and perceiving his grief, excused himself from the gathering and went after his friend.

"Legolas, mellon-nín," the Man said when he found him upon the ramparts, "you are sad."

"Yes," said Legolas, "much has been saved and many restored to us, but not all and not everyone."

Aragorn nodded wordlessly. The two stood silently side by side for a time. At last Legolas spoke once more.

"I would like to return to Helm's Deep. Since we had need of haste, I did not search for Haldir's body, as I should have otherwise done. I know that the human who was left in charge will have treated his body with honor, but I should like to go to the place and utter my farewell."

"Of course, Legolas. And I shall accompany you."

"As will I," growled a voice. "You don't think you can be shut of me, I hope. For we Dwarves can hold on tight, aye, as in a death grip!"

Legolas smiled and turned to his friend Gimli, who had followed in Aragorn's wake.

"Yes, you Dwarves _can_ hold on tight—and I have the bruises round my middle as proof of that!"

Gimli spluttered in indignation as Aragorn laughed. Just then a servant came up with a message for the Man.

"Lord Aragorn, a stranger has just arrived who begs leave to speak with you."

"Did he give his name?"

"Nay, but he assured me that you would wish to see him at once. He tells me that he brings news from Helm's Deep."

"Very well. I shall be in my private chambers. Your pardon, Legolas, Gimli."

Aragorn strode off to his lodgings. A short while later a servant ushered in the visitor. His hood was up, and he wore the garb of the Rohirrim but carried a bow like those borne by the Elves of Lothlórien.

Aragorn stood to greet him, and the Elf pushed back his hood.

"Haldir!"

In a second Aragorn had covered the distance between them and was flinging his arms around his friend.

"Ah, Aragorn," gasped Haldir, "do not squeeze so tightly. My back is still sore."

"I am sorry!" exclaimed Aragorn, loosening his grip but loathe to let go of his friend altogether. "But how is this possible—no, why not! Against all hope, Gandalf was restored to us, and Frodo and Sam returned from the fires of Mount Doom. Why should you not come back again!? But your injury, it was a grievous one."

"Aye, but I was lovingly nursed by one Haleth son of Háma, who seemed to be personally affronted by the prospect that I might die."

"Haleth son of Háma! Oh, he is indeed his father's son, loyal and devoted! I shall have to say a word on his behalf to Éomer. But come, I must take you to Legolas."

Haldir shook his head.

"No, I have in mind a surprise for that young Elf, to pay him back for his many pranks over the centuries!"

And so Haldir had remained hidden that night, resting comfortably in one of the inner rooms of Aragorn's chambers.

Now it was morning, and Aragorn was making his stately ascent of the steps leading to the terrace before the Great Hall of the City of Minas Tirith. Upon the terrace stood Gimli, sweating in his anxiety, his arms trembling a little as he held up the velvet pillow upon which rested the winged crown of the hereditary kings of Gondor. Next to him Gandalf stood calmly, the fulfillment of all his labors on the verge of accomplishment. Aragorn came to stand before the Istar. He inclined his head slightly to his friend and mentor. Gandalf returned the gesture and then lifted the crown from its pillow. He raised it high, so that all might see. "Now come the days of the King," he declared. "May they be blessed." He lowered the crown onto Aragorn's head, bowed deeply and stepped back. The crowd roared its approval. Aragorn turned and solemnly addressed the people.

"This day does not belong to one man, but to all," he proclaimed. "Let us together rebuild this world, that we may share in the days of peace."  
People cheered and clapped, and from a balcony above, folk began to scatter flower petals. Gimli blinked and looked up in awe as petals brushed his face. Aragorn raised his arms and the people fell silent as Aragorn began to sing the song of his ancestor Elendil. "Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien," he chanted. "Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta." _Out if the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come. In this place I will abide, and my heirs, unto the end of the World._

The song concluded, Aragorn descended from the terrace and began to pace slowly through the crowd, on either side folk bowing as he passed. He came to where Éomer stood. King bowed to King. He came next to where Faramir stood, now joined by Éowyn. They bowed to him, and he bowed no less deeply than he had bowed to Éomer.

Aragorn next came to where Legolas stood before the elven delegation. He put his hand upon the Elf's shoulder. "Hannon le," the Man said once more. _Thank you._

Behind Legolas, among the Fair Folk, stood one who carried a banner that was to be presented to the newly crowned King. As Aragorn accepted it, its hooded bearer stepped out from behind its cover and lifted her head so that her face might be seen. Arwen! Aragorn felt giddy. He hardly knew what to do, but suddenly, impulsively, he seized her and pulled her into an embrace. She welcomed him with a kiss. Judging from the laughter and cheers that broke out from the onlookers, the first act of his realm had been an acceptable one.

Legolas had been grinning broadly at Aragorn's confusion and sudden joy. Now Aragorn caught his eye and nodded toward another banner. Thinking that his friend desired him to carry that flag, Legolas moved toward it and laid his hand upon the staff. Its bearer stepped out from behind the banner and drew back his hood.

"Haldir!" Legolas was heard to cry in a most inelegant fashion. It is also said by some that the Prince of Mirkwood moved in a most inelegant fashion as well, but not all the chronicles are in agreement in this matter. It is certain, however, that chaos instantly broke out, and it is said that Aragorn momentarily abandoned all dignity as he joined his companions in laughing heartily. At last, however, Gandalf laid a hand on Aragorn's shoulder and whispered to him, and the King resumed his progress through the crowd, this time with Arwen at this side. The King and his future Queen came to where the Hobbits stood in their place of honor. The four Periannath bowed to the King of Gondor. "My friends," Aragorn objected, "you bow to no one!" He knelt down before them, as did Arwen; and all the folk—Man, Elf, Dwarf, Wizard—joined Aragorn and Arwen in paying homage to the Halflings.

The ceremony at an end, feasting followed. The entertainments went on for hours. At last, however, the day drew to a close, and Aragorn and his guests withdrew to their respective quarters. With Gimli and Legolas went Haldir. Once in their lodgings, Gimli ensconced himself in an armed chair, lit his pipe, and between puffs commented repeatedly upon Legolas's reaction to the sudden reappearance of Haldir. At length Legolas gave vent to exasperation at Gimli's gloating.

"Never thought I'd see an Elf fall right on his—"

"Yes, yes," interrupted Legolas. "Will you never tire of reminding me?"

Gimli drew on his pipe before answering.

"No," he chortled at last, "I never will. You'd best get used to it."

"Very well, Gimli. I did not wish to resort to taking this step, but you leave me no choice. I happen to know that, at Helm's Deep, when you and Aragorn slipped outside the fortress to battle the Orcs upon the causeway, the only reason you were able to make the leap from the hidden door to the bridge was that—"

"Aragorn!" bellowed Gimli. "'Don't tell the Elf', I said, and he said, 'Not a word'. Where is he? I'm going to kill him!"

Gimli stormed out of the room in search of the King, leaving Legolas to grin at Haldir.

"I never cease to wonder at the friendship between you and that Dwarf," said the Lothlórien Elf. "'Tis an amazing thing."

"No more amazing than The Return of the Elf," teased Legolas.

Haldir laughed.

"That sounds like the title of a book, my friend."

"Who knows," said Legolas, pouring himself and his friend a glass of the wine left over from the coronation. "Mayhap some day it will be."

And with that, the two Elves toasted both The Return of the King and The Return of the Elf.


	46. Chapter 46: A Series of Interruptions

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers**_:__**UwIllNevERn0, Triolet, NewJonasLover11**__**, SH, Ilada'Jefiv, Foxgurl0000, Elfinabottle, CAH, and TheHouseOfTheGoldenFlower**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Lord of the Rings.**_

**Beta Reader: **_**Dragonfly**_

**Chapter 46: A Series of Interruptions**

"I must say, Éomer, your sister is well bestowed," Gimli said, hoisting his cup in salute to the bride. "Look at Faramir's face—he is besotted with the lovely lass."

Éomer raised his cup in reply. He looked besotted, too, although it may have had more to do with what he had imbibed than with his feelings toward any of his own prospective partners. The women of Minas Tirith had been unremittingly attentive to the King of Rohan ever since he had returned with his sister from Edoras, whence the siblings had journeyed in order to lay their uncle to rest in a barrow bestrewn with simbelmynë, the flower called 'evermind' in token of its ever-blooming blossoms. His hair and beard trimmed and combed for Éowyn and Faramir's wedding, his garments in good repair and more colorful than those worn to battle, Éomer had attracted speculative glances and appraising murmurs wherever he went within the City. Yet the King of Rohan had been oblivious to the ladies' eager efforts to capture his attentions, for his heart was already bestowed upon a woman of his own land.

Although Éomer was unmoved, others of the company were more appreciative of the ladies' interest in him. "Well, that's taken the pressure off Legolas," Gandalf had observed on one occasion when Éomer's entrance into a room had precipitated a near stampede as the women who had surrounded the Elf abruptly excused themselves and rushed to greet the King of Rohan. With his relief evident upon his face, Legolas had hurried to stand by the wizard—or slightly behind the wizard, actually, as if he hoped to shelter behind the Istar's robes.

"No need to hide, Legolas," Gandalf had teased. "As long as Éomer remains in Minas Tirith, you are safe."

"In a fortnight Éomer returns to Edoras," Legolas pointed out glumly. "When he does, however am I to convince these ladies that I am not in the market, as it were?"

"If you like, I shall start a rumor that Mirkwood Elves are incapable of siring peredhil children. That should discourage any suitors."

"I should be quite glad if you would!"

And so, in the weeks surrounding Éowyn and Faramir's wedding, when it was natural for talk to turn to other weddings, Gandalf let it be known that Thranduil was thinking about what elven alliances might be forged through a marriage between his son and an elf maiden from either Imladris or Lothlórien. "Thranduil won't seek a wife for his son in Esgaroth or Rohan or Gondor," Gandalf explained to one of Aragorn's councilors, "for such a union would be fruitless. There are different sorts of Elves, you know, and not all may aspire to have children with humans."

As usual, Gandalf, who followed the practice of Elves in such matters, had spoken nothing but the truth. Thranduil had indeed been considering whether and where his son ought to marry, and his thoughts had been focused on the realms of Imladris and Lothlórien. It would not do, however, for Gandalf to suggest that Thranduil had rejected out of hand an alliance with Gondor. The folk of that realm would have been insulted, and their good will toward Aragorn's half-elven Queen might have been lessened. Hence Gandalf's claim that a liaison between Legolas and a human would be fruitless. Here, too, the wizard told no lie. He knew Legolas well enough to understand that a forced marriage would be so repugnant to the Elf that nothing would come of it. None of the women of Minas Tirith had captured his fancy, so even if Thranduil had decreed that he should marry one, Legolas would not sire an heir. Of course, Thranduil, having grown in wisdom as a father, would never be so foolish as to coerce his son into marrying if the young Elf had objections to the lady. The Men of Gondor need not be told that, however. They could be left secure in their belief that the alien Elf could not father a child with one of their woman and that this was why Thranduil did not seek a wife for his son from amongst the great families of the realm.

Thus Legolas was left free to concentrate on other matters, chief of which was Ithilien. Faramir and Éowyn were to settle in that land east of the Anduin. By treaty, all remnants of the Haradrim and Easterlings had withdrawn from Ithilien, but it still needed to be cleansed of Orcs and renegade Men who had served Sauron out of avarice and ambition. So it was that three weeks after Faramir and Éowyn's wedding, Gimli came in to the lodgings he shared with Legolas to find the Elf examining his bow. On a table lay the Sinda's two matched knives, recently sharpened. Without a word, Gimli went to the corner and picked up his great battle axe. Sitting upon a chair, he began to hone its edge. "So," he said after several minutes, "all the feasting is done with and now the true entertainment begins. Is it Ithilien, lad?"

"Aye, Gimli. Aragorn has received reports that bands of Orcs have been lurking near Cair Andros. He is desirous that these small bands do not coalesce into a larger force. We are to track these bands down and destroy them."

"No doubt the survivors will flee to Morgul Vale," Gimli observed, holding up his axe and sighting along its edge.

"Aye, but we shall pursue them. It will be decades before any decent folk may settle in that place, but we can at least deny our enemies its use as a base for their forays."

A fortnight after this conversation, a company of Gondorians, led by Faramir, departed the City. Beside him, on the horse that they shared, rode Legolas and Gimli.

"Pity Éomer had to return to Meduseld," said Gimli. "He would have relished accompanying us on this patrol."

"True," agreed Faramir, "but doubtless as we speak Éomer is riding out on a patrol of his own. Renegades continue to raid the borders of his land."

"I am glad Elladan and Elrohir have gone to help him," said Legolas. "And Éomer has promised that afterwards he will lead a troop to the Gap of Rohan to block the escape of Orcs as the Elves of Imladris and Lothlórien drive them from their redoubts in the Misty Mountains."

"If Orcs from those mountains were to make their way to Mordor," observed Faramir, "they would repopulate that land even in the absence of a Dark Lord."

"Yes," agreed Gimli, "and then Aragorn shall have yet another care on his plate. Poor fellow already has to sit through meetings with all those ambassadors when it is obvious he would prefer being closeted with Arwen."

At Gimli's words, Faramir sighed and looked wistful, and the Dwarf remembered to his chagrin that Faramir, too, was a newlywed who had had to relinquish the embrace of his wife in exchange for an engagement with his foes. Perceiving the distress of both his friends, Legolas quickly turned the conversation away from amatory exploits and toward martial ones.

"Once Imladris and Lórien warriors, aided by the Rohirrim, have extirpated the Orcs of the Misty Mountains," the Elf declaimed, "those warriors will be free to help my father to drive out such Orcs and renegades as lurk about Eryn Lasgalen."

"And then," said Gimli, continuing the tale, "Thranduil has pledged that the Mirkwood Elves will help the Men of Lake-town and my own people to rid their kingdoms of _their_ Orcs and renegades. It's a sort of round robin, innit it, lad?"

"Indeed, it is, Gimli," Legolas replied.

"It puts me in mind," Faramir said, his interest in the topic rekindled, "of the way you Elves fight when you are outnumbered—in a circle, back to back."

"That is a good notion," said Legolas, "and one that may serve as an emblem of how all Free Folk must combine in defense one of the other. Sauron has been destroyed, but we must remain vigilant ne'ertheless. Yes, the Elves are at peace with the Dwarves, and the both of us are in accord with the Men of Rohan and Gondor. But there are other Men dwelling without the borders of our lands who will greedily covet the wealth that will be the fruit of our friendship. It is true that the Southrons and Easterlings have signed a treaty with Gondor, but do not doubt that they would break its terms if they thought it was in their advantage to do so!"

"You are right, Legolas," Faramir said soberly. "And we must fear others besides the Southrons and Easterlings. They are the greatest threat because they dwell nearest us, but Men of more distant realms will also desire to wrest from us our winnings. Gimli, your pardon, but it is a byword amongst my folk that Dwarves are greedy. However, it must be said that, even if this be true, the Dwarves labor hard for their gold. But Men will steal, plunder, and murder for theirs."

Gimli graciously inclined his head. "I will not deny," he said, "that we Dwarves cherish our gold—aye, and our silver, mithril, and gems—but it is not only for their value as items of exchange. Gems and precious metals may be fashioned into beautiful objects that are valuable not only because of the materials from which they are made but also because of the care that goes into their crafting."

Smiling, Legolas fingered the starburst pendant that Gimli had forged for him, its value indeed far greater than the cost of the materials from which it had been forged. Then he suddenly dropped his hand and checked his horse. "Yrch," he hissed.

Gimli's elvish vocabulary was now quite extensive, but even had it not been it would have been sufficient on this occasion. "Orcs," he softly echoed his companion. At a sign from Legolas, the Dwarf slid from the horse, for the scrubland that they had just entered was no place for cavalry maneuvers. The Elf dropped down beside him, and at a command from Faramir, the Gondorians likewise dismounted.

"You have heard something?" Faramir whispered to Legolas. The Elf shook his head. "Sensed it," he answered softly. In fact, a nearby sapling had uttered a warning, but lengthy explanations were unnecessary, for Faramir did not doubt the Elf. "How close?" the Man asked simply.

"Somewhere beyond that line of trees."

Faramir nodded calmly, although he was taken aback by discovery of Orcs so close to Minas Tirith. They were far from Cair Andros, the spot where the scouts had found signs of their foes. Faramir had not expected to encounter enemies at the very outset of their expedition. "Are they aware of our presence?" he asked.

Legolas grimaced. "We have not been especially quiet," he pointed out. "I shouldn't be surprised if they knew of our approach, particularly if it is a mixed band of Orcs and Men. The Orcs might be stupid enough not to set a guard, but I doubt if the Men would be so foolish."

Faramir nodded again. "You deem it unlikely that we will take them by surprise?"

"Yes, I do fear it unlikely."

Faramir considered. He had no way of knowing the size of the force that confronted them. He would not have shied away from taking on a larger force by virtue of its size alone. However, in such a case surprise or some other tactical advantage would be vital. Surprise seemed unlikely, and to secure any other tactical advantage would depend upon amassing sufficient information as to the situation and condition of the enemy. Information of this type they lacked; nor was it likely they could acquire it. Not even Legolas could tell Faramir how well their foes were led or how well armed. Regretfully, Faramir concluded they had no choice but to retreat. As the Man came to this decision, Legolas spoke urgently.

"I believe they are trying to outflank us," he declared. "If they succeed, we are going to have to fight our way out. Faramir, let us use the horses to confound them."

"You believe we should remount? But if we were atop horses, then we should be the more visible, our bodies no longer be hidden by the scrub. If they have bows, they will shoot us down from cover."

"No, send the horses before us. They will throw the lines of our enemy into disarray, and we will break out of the ambush in their wake."

At Faramir's command, his Men quickly brought their horses to the side facing the path back to Minas Tirith. Arod was not a horse elven-bred, but Legolas had always spoken to him as if he were, and Gimli swore that the two had an understanding. Now the Elf whispered into the horse's ear, and Arod tossed his head, looking for all the world as if he were nodding agreement. Then, at one last word from Legolas, the horse leaped forward, trampling through the brush as he galloped toward their enemies. Behind him, the other horses stampeded.

Within seconds howls and curses were heard as the stampeding horses reached their enemies. Faramir was chagrined to realize exactly how close their foes had been, but he had no time for reflection. In as tight a formation as possible, his troops were running behind their steeds, leaping over the bodies of Orcs and Men who had been borne to ground by the massive war horses. Not all of their foes had been felled by the horses, however, for arrows began to fall amongst the Gondorian force. Fortunately, as the enemy archers could not see their targets, they were shooting wildly. Moreover, Faramir's Men wore armor which, if light, was sufficient to turn arrows. Their peril would be the greater, though, when they broke into the open.

As the company broke from cover, Gimli was rearmost save for one other. Legolas could easily have outdistanced his friend, but he had hung back and was indeed several steps behind the Dwarf. This Gimli did not know. He had lost sight of Legolas whilst they were still in the scrub and had assumed that his friend was somewhere ahead, hidden amidst the body of the company.

Gimli was only a few yards from the scrub when he heard the twang of an arrow being released. He tensed, expecting momentarily to feel the missile strike home betwixt his shoulder blades. Instead, almost at his ear, he heard an answering twang. He spun about, axe raised high, only to see Legolas, his bow still raised. Facing the Elf was an Orc, an arrow in its neck. The creature clutched frantically at its throat and then, as Gimli watched, toppled backward, landing in a bush, arms and legs askew. "Run, Legolas," shouted Gimli. Instead, the bow dropped from the Elf's hand, and he slumped upon his knees. Looking down, Gimli saw that an arrow protruded from his friend's chest. Just then an Orc bearing a scimitar broke from the scrub. The creature grinned hideously at seeing the injured Elf and raised his scimitar, meaning to finish him. Gimli bellowed and ran at him, surprising the creature with his ferocity. With one blow, he severed the creature's leg at the thigh. Another Orc came charging out, but when his comrade's limb flew by his head, he turned tail and scuttled back into the brush. Arrows next shot out from the scrub. Gimli turned about and threw himself over Legolas, who had collapsed upon his side. Arrows thudded about the huddled Dwarf. Fortunately, the Orcs had retreated several feet back into the scrub and could no longer see their target. Two ill-aimed arrows pierced Gimli's leather jerkin at a slant, doing him no harm. Another bounced off his helm, and yet another struck his boot.

Faramir had heard Gimli bellow and at once noticed Legolas's absence. He ordered his Men to mount up, and at a full gallop they rode back toward the brush. Still at a full gallop, the horses for a second time crashed through the lines of their enemies. Faramir's Men then dismounted and hunted down the survivors on foot. Perhaps a few of their foes escaped, but it would be months before they would again threaten Ithilien. In any event, Faramir's main concern was securing the area so that Legolas might be attended to.

As his Men scoured the scrub, Faramir returned to Gimli, who now sat upon his heels, rocking back and forth and keening. "Calm yourself," urged Faramir.

"I have killed him!" wailed Gimli. "I have killed him!"

"You haven't," came a faint voice. "No Dwarf could kill an Elf. The Elf should die of shame if that happened."

The last sentence was nonsensical, given the one that preceded it, but Gimli was too agitated to notice. He would have thrown his arms around Legolas if it hadn't been for the arrow protruding from the Elf's chest. Instead he settled for seizing his friend's hand and squeezing it until Legolas had to suppress a grimace. He could not stop his head from lolling to one side, however, and overwhelmed with dizziness, he closed his eyes.

"Don't!" cried Gimli. "Don't die! You said you should be ashamed!"

Legolas forced his eyes open in order to reassure the Dwarf. As Gimli regarded him anxiously, still gripping his hand tightly, Faramir laid a cloth upon the ground. Upon it he placed strips of cloth. Then he took a small knife, already sharp, and honed it even sharper. Gimli frowned.

"You mean to cut out the arrow, Faramir?"

"Aye, I do."

"Should you? If the arrow is drawn, won't the wound bleed the worse?"

"If the arrowhead is poisoned, the sooner it is removed, the better. Indeed, the bleeding may have the effect of purging some of the poison, if any there be."

Soon Faramir was ready. A fire had been kindled to boil water, and through the flame Faramir passed the blade. Then he knelt by Legolas's side. Gimli still gripped Legolas's hand. "Now, you squeeze as tightly as you like," he instructed the Elf. "_I_ won't mind." Weak as he was, Legolas ventured to jest in reply. "I should squeeze your hand," he said dryly, "if you were not already gripping it so tightly." Gimli tried to ease his grip, but after a moment was clutching the Elf's hand as tightly as ever. Faramir offered Legolas a stick to bite upon, but the Elf shook his head. "I can manage," he assured the Man, still jesting. "Gimli's grip will surely distract me from any pain _you_ might inflict upon me!"

Faramir smiled fleetingly, and then he began to carefully probe at the wound. "I think," he said after a moment, "that the arrow has gone straight in and may likewise be removed in a straightforward fashion." He laid aside the knife, put one hand on Legolas's chest, and with the other began to pull steadily upon the shaft. It came out relatively easily, the arrow not having rotated so that the point would be trapped by the ribs.

When the arrow had been removed, as Gimli had feared, the blood began to stream from the wound. Worse, the Elf fainted. Distraught, the Dwarf groaned. "Legolas," he cried, beating his free hand upon his breast, "you cannot give up your life for a mortal such as I!"

"Calm yourself, Gimli," Faramir again urged. The Man handed the Dwarf one of the strips of cloth he had prepared. "Press this against his wound," he instructed the Dwarf. Then he arose and ordered his Men to fashion a litter.

Kneeling by the side of his friend, Gimli tried to staunch the flow of blood. To his relief, after a few minutes, the bleeding did lessen, and Legolas appeared to be regaining consciousness. The Elf muttered a little and tried to push away Gimli's hand. "No, Legolas," chided Gimli. "You must lie still or your wound will bleed anew."

Legolas relaxed and opened his eyes a little. "You are safe" he muttered weakly. "And Faramir is safe. But what of the others? They are safe?"

"Yes, yes!" Gimli reassured him. "Do not waste energy fretting. You are the only one who has suffered a serious injury."

"Thirsty," murmured Legolas, closing his eyes again. With a gentleness that was almost maternal, Gimli eased the Elf partially upright and held a water skin to his mouth. Legolas managed a few swallows and then dozed off again as Gimli continued to cradle him in his arms.

In a little while Faramir's Men approached with a litter, and Gimli reluctantly surrendered his friend so they might lift him upon it. Once the Elf was settled, with Gimli's cloak tucked about him in addition to his own, the Men began to smoothly yet swiftly bear him in the direction of Minas Tirith. The Dwarf, who was still distraught, stumbled as he tried to keep up. At last, swearing, he caught hold of Arod and scrambled atop the surprised steed. "I shan't hold back the company," Gimli grunted to an equally surprised Faramir, who knew of Gimli's dislike of horses. "You are certain you can manage?" asked the Man doubtfully. "If it will get Legolas back the quicker, then I reckon I can," the Dwarf said stoutly, clinging to Arod's mane with both hands. Fortunately, the horse required no guidance from the Dwarf, so all Gimli had to do was avoid falling off. Trotting close to the Men who bore the stretcher, Arod seemed to be urging them on; and from time to time, Men who were riding leaped from their horses and spelled the Men who were carrying the litter, so that it was never necessary for the company to halt. Yet they could not have gone fast enough for Gimli, who perceived that an ague began to possess the body of his friend. The Elf alternately trembled and sweated, and Gimli, who had never seen him sick, was terrified lest they arrive too late at Minas Tirith.

Hour after hour passed, the company never pausing, until at last they came in sight of Minas Tirith. Gimli shouted and made as if to pound his heels against Arod's flanks, but both the shout and the gesture proved unnecessary, for the horse had broken into a gallop even before Gimli had uttered a sound. Thundering past an astonished Faramir, the stallion raced flat out for the City Gate.

When Arod reached the Gate, he did not pause, and the guards sprang to either side to avoid being ridden down by the horse. Once inside the City, the stallion climbed unerringly toward the seventh and uttermost level of the City, where King Elessar and his guests had their lodgings.

"Aragorn! I want Aragorn!" shouted Gimli, tumbling inelegantly from his mount onto the terrace in front of the entrance to the King's private quarters. The guards gaped at him until he marched up and poked one in the groin. He aimed rather low, I might add, and was rewarded when his victim was galvanized into action, dropping his halbard and running into the Hall in a sort of crouch, crying out for the King in a voice that was rather high-pitched for a Man-at-Arms. Gimli followed hard on his heels, pushing him in the small of the back whenever his progress slowed. They reached the door to Aragorn's bedchamber, and the guard turned to ask Gimli to wait while he was announced. Gimli bulled past him, however. Flinging open the door, he stalked into the room, making straight for the curtained bed. "Aragorn!" he bellowed.

The King stuck his head out from between the curtains. "Am I never to have time alone with Arwen?" he said plaintively. "I have already apologized for telling Legolas that I tossed you onto the bridge at Helm's Deep."

"I don't care about that," growled Gimli. "Legolas is hurt—he took an arrow to the chest whilst covering my retreat!"

Aragorn's expression changed from petulance to alarm, and he sprang naked from the bed, reaching unapologetically for his robe. As he swiftly dressed, he minutely questioned Gimli as to the nature and severity of the Elf's wound. While the two spoke, Arwen slipped out on the far side of the bed and, her modesty preserved by the curtains, likewise dressed swiftly. Legolas was her foster-brother, and she had no mind to stand by idly while his life was in peril.

The royal couple having dressed, Aragorn, Arwen, and Gimli descended to the House of Healing that had once sheltered Faramir and Éowyn. As they approached it, the litter bearers came up and lowered their burden gently to the ground. Aragorn knelt beside it and laid his hand upon his friend's forehead. "Legolas," he called. "Legolas." The Elf stirred a little but did not open his eyes. Aragorn arose and gestured for the bearers to carry the stretcher within.

Once inside, the bearers carefully lifted Legolas onto a bed next to a window that looked out over the garden—"he will mend the better if he can see trees and blossoms," Arwen pointed out—and Aragorn helped the Healer remove the Elf's tunic. The bandages beneath bore little trace of blood, but the skin around the wound was flushed and hot to the touch. Yet there was no swelling; neither was there any noxious drainage. "Not infected," Aragorn observed.

"That's good," Gimli said hopefully.

"Perhaps," Aragorn said noncommittally. "His skin is reddened and warm to the touch. The arrowhead may have been poisoned. He turned to Faramir. "Did you save the arrow?"

Faramir drew the missile from his belt and handed it to Aragorn. The Dúnadan sniffed its tip. He grimaced. "The arrowhead has been anointed with a paste containing juice squeezed from the berries of the banewort plant," he said, "or deadly nightshade, as it is often called."

"Deadly nightshade," Gimli echoed, his voice trembling. "Must he die, then?"

"A creature that eats the berries and the young leaves is likely to suffer from nausea at the least, convulsions and paralysis at the worst. Ingesting it can be fatal, yes. But Legolas did not swallow the poison. Moreover, you have said that Faramir quickly removed the arrow, so it may be that Legolas absorbed but little of the poison."

Aragorn lifted Legolas's eyelid. "Ah," he said, pleased, "see how his pupils constrict at the light. I should expect them to remain dilated if he had received a heavy dose of the poison."

Aragorn put his hand upon the pulse in Legolas's neck. "Perhaps a trifle fast," he pronounced, "but it would not be accurate to say that his heart races. Nor does it beat erratically. Gimli, you say that on the trip back he was trembling and sweating. These are both symptoms of banewort poisoning."

"Yes, and his hands twitch still, and he perspires. Yet the twitching and the sweating were much more noticeable a little while ago."

Aragorn nodded. "Good. He has been poisoned, but the dose was indeed small. Already his body begins to recover."

"Is there anything you can do to aid him in his recovery?" Arwen asked.

Aragorn turned to the Healer. "Do you have any calabar beans? They grow far to the south, but perhaps some merchants may have brought them hence."

"We do indeed have some of those beans, for they can be used to treat lockjaw."

"Indeed, and the twitching that Legolas is experiencing has something in common with the spasms suffered by a person with that malady."

"The calabar beans must be prepared carefully, though," warned the Healer, "for they themselves can be poisonous. The dose, too, must not be excessive."

"Yes, my kinsman Halbarad told me as much. I assisted him on two occasions when Rangers who had suffered wounds began to show signs of lockjaw. They did not altogether escape the disease, but they suffered less than they would have without an infusion prepared from the beans."

Aragorn went off with the Healer to prepare the potion. In his absence, Arwen seated herself by Legolas. Taking one of his hands, she gently stroked it. Refusing Faramir's offer of a chair, Gimli stood on the other side of the bed. He, too, took one of Legolas's hands, but instead of stroking it, he gripped it tightly, loosening his hold only when Arwen softly chided him.

Seeing Legolas in good hands, both literally and metaphorically, Faramir excused himself and went to see to the welfare of his Men, a few of whom had been lightly injured in the engagement.

After Faramir had departed, Arwen set herself to calming Gimli. "You must not fret, Gimli," she soothed.

"Yes, I must," the Dwarf replied truculently. "There's only one reason Legolas was at the rear of the column, Lady. You and I both know that he was covering my retreat. Durn fool Elf! He could have outpaced anyone of the company. Weren't for me, he would have escaped unharmed. "

"That is not altogether certain, Gimli," Arwen replied calmly. "Even in you had been foremost in the retreat, Legolas might have chosen to bring up the rear to keep any enemies from getting at the company. For one thing, he would wish to fend off any harm that might befall Faramir, if only for the sake of Aragorn, who esteems that young Man as both a friend and a counselor. Above all, Legolas is a warrior, and it is not in the character of a warrior to place his welfare above the welfare of his comrades. Indeed, friend Gimli, I suspect that you did not realize that Legolas was behind you, else you would have been vying with him to be rearmost."

Gimli admitted that this was so. "Yes," he said ruefully, "I did think that he was ahead of me, for I had last seen him by the side of Faramir, counseling the Steward. I thought he had remained at his side. Instead, he fell back. I should have died if he hadn't, for nothing stood between me and an Orc arrow save my jerkin—and I do not think it would turn a missile at close range."

"Had you died, Legolas would have been distraught. Indeed, he might have faded, for you are precious to him—yes, as precious as any Ring, but far more valuable. You must not grudge the fact that he has protected his happiness by protecting your life."

"Well, there's a puzzle—a conundrum, I think Legolas would call it. Legolas has risked his life in order to protect his life—for I know what 'fading' means, Lady."

"Then you are a Dwarf most wise," came a voice from the door.

"Gandalf!" exclaimed Gimli, in his excitement squeezing Legolas's hand until the Elf murmured in protest. "I thought you were in Lothlórien."

"I was journeying thence, but I received a message from Galadriel that I ought to turn back."

The wizard approached the bed and pried Legolas's hand from Gimli's. The Dwarf stepped back a little reluctantly, but he knew that Gandalf's powers might do the Elf at least as much good as the potion Aragorn was brewing. The Istar kept one hand on Legolas's and laid the other one on the Elf's forehead, murmuring an incantation as he did so. Legolas had been breathing swiftly and shallowly, but as the wizard chanted, the Elf's breathing deepened and slowed. It seemed to Gimli that Legolas also appeared less flushed. Gandalf released his hold and stepped back. "There, now," he said briskly. "That should do for the time being. Gimli, you don't look much better than Legolas. Why don't you retire to your chamber and rest for a space."

"Not until I see him altogether recovered," Gimli said stubbornly. With a kind expression, Gandalf laid a gentle hand upon Gimli at a point slightly above the spot where the Dwarf's neck met his shoulder. Arwen hid a smile, for she had heard of this maneuver. Suddenly the wizard gave a small squeeze, and Gimli slid limply to the floor.

"Wherever did you learn to do that, Mithrandir?" Arwen asked when she returned to the room after summoning servants to bear away the Dwarf (who was now snoring).

Gandalf shrugged. "I have journeyed far in my day—whether in the body or in my mind I have not always been able to say. As to that trick of mine, it seems to me that once I went where no Man has gone before and that in that far off place I encountered many strange folk. One of these folk, who had pointed ears like an Elf's and a sense of humor as dry as Elrond's, taught me that a squeeze upon a certain point of the neck would put a person into a deep sleep."

"He was an Elf, then?" exclaimed Arwen, intrigued.

Gandalf shook his head. "He was no Elf, but he would have understood your people and been comfortable amongst them."

This conversation was interrupted by Aragorn's arrival. He bore a goblet in his hand from which arose a musty odor. He did not seem surprised at Mithrandir's presence. Instead, without saying a word, he handed the wizard the goblet and then bent over Legolas, slipping his arms behind his shoulders and lifting him into a seated position. "Legolas," he called. "Legolas! You must rouse yourself a little so that you may drink of a potion I have prepared for you."

Legolas opened his eyes a little, wincing as he did so. Gandalf brought the cup to his lips. The Elf made a face. "Smells like mold," he objected.

"Tastes like it, too, I am sure," the wizard said cheerfully.

Legolas rolled his eyes but nevertheless took a sip of the brew. He grimaced. "Why must medicine always taste foul?" he complained.

"Perhaps a spoonful of sugar would help the medicine go down," suggested Arwen.

"Nonsense," scoffed Gandalf. "Legolas is a warrior. He does not require coddling." The wizard again held the cup to the Elf's lips. Little by little, Legolas drank the entire dose. Then Aragorn eased him back down onto the bed. With an appreciative sigh, the Elf closed his eyes and fell into a deep, untroubled sleep. Now it was that Aragorn looked about and noticed that Gimli was missing.

"Mithrandir put him into a restful trance, and the servants have put him to bed," Arwen said in reply to his inquiring glance.

"Ah," said Aragorn knowingly. "Used your neck-grip, did you? Do you know, Gandalf, that for decades Elrohir has been trying futilely to duplicate your technique? He can't seem to position his fingers just right."

"I can only imagine why Elrohir might wish to use that trick," Gandalf said dryly. "Now, then, the crisis is over. We don't all need to crowd about Legolas's bed. I shall take the first watch. Good night!"

With that, Aragorn and Arwen returned to their chamber, where, safe from interruption by anyone (and especially Gimli), they were able to disport themselves in whatever fashion they pleased for the next several hours.


	47. Chapter 47: Circle and Circumlocution

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers**_:__**UwIllNevERn0, NewJonasLover11**__**, Ilada'Jefiv, Foxgurl0000, Elfinabottle, Grumpy123, vectis, CAH, and TheHouseOfTheGoldenFlower**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Lord of the Rings.**_

**Gwador-mell: 'dear brother'; used by Arwen to address Legolas because he is her foster brother.**

**Beta Reader: **_**Dragonfly**_

**Chapter 47: A Circle and a Circumlocution**

When Gimli awoke, he found he had been put to bed in a chamber in the House of Healing. The clothes he had been wearing had vanished, and since he was not in his customary lodgings, no others were to hand. Growling, he leaped up and stripped off the duvet cover. Wrapping it around himself, he stalked from the room, scowling at the surprised servants he encountered as he tried to find his way back to the room where Legolas lay. When he arrived at the chamber, he was about to fling open the door, but he reminded himself that Legolas was injured and ought to be shielded from commotion. Gently he eased the door open and crept inside. Within he found Arwen sitting beside Legolas's bed. She was wiping the Elf's forehead with a damp cloth. "How is he, Lady?" the Dwarf whispered.

"From time to time he is feverish, but only a little," she replied.

"I had gotten used to the idea that he was immortal," Gimli said somberly. "Horrified me past telling when I realized that he might die."

Arwen smiled a little pensively, and all at once Gimli remembered what Legolas had told him: that Elrond's daughter had bound herself to Aragorn for an eternity, which meant that, since the Dúnadan was mortal, she too would die.

"Immortal the Fair Folk may be by nature," she said, "but by choice or misadventure an Elf may perish. In the case of poison, even an Elf may suffer its ill effects if the venom be powerful enough."

"Doubtless it would have killed me," Gimli said thoughtfully, "for I am a mere mortal."

"That is possible," said Arwen, smiling, "but I think it is likelier that you will die of a chill if you do not don some proper clothing."

Suddenly Gimli remembered that he stood before the Queen of Gondor wrapped in nothing but a duvet cover. His already florid face turned a bright red, and, reassured that Legolas was on the mend, the Nauga went in search of his clothes. Everyone he met seemed vague as to their whereabouts, however. At last he borrowed a cloak from a servant and stole back to the lodgings that he shared with the Elf, where he retrieved a set of clothes from the wardrobe. He was very glad that the Mirkwood ambassador who had delivered Legolas's diadem had also conveyed tunics and leggings sewn for the Dwarf by Legolas's Edwen Nana. At first Gimli had grumbled when he had seen the embroidery that festooned the garments—flowers and vines and birds—but he had no compunction putting them on now.

The Dwarf was drawing on his leggings when he heard the sound of high pitched voices punctuated by a series of quick raps upon the door frame. "Pesky Hobbits," he muttered under his breath. "I shan't be able to return to Legolas straightaway."

The door banged open just as Gimli was opening his mouth to shout that the Hobbits might enter. Merry and Pippin tumbled into the room. Sam came after, and Frodo last of all.

"Legolas!" Merry and Pippin chorused together. "How does he fare?"

"Gandalf won't let us enter the House of Healing," Sam chimed in, an aggrieved expression upon his face.

"I expect Legolas needs rest," Frodo tried to calm them. "A herd of Hobbits might weary him."

"A herd of Hobbits, eh?" said Gimli. "That's good."

"We are not a herd," Pippin protested.

"A gaggle, then," Gimli suggested with a smirk. "For silly geese you be," he added, nodding at Merry and Pippin.

"I prefer an exaltation of Hobbits," Merry said loftily. Gimli snorted.

"I have heard you sing, Master Meriadoc. You are no songbird! You put me more in mind of a bellowing of bullfinches or a clattering of choughs than an exaltation of larks."

"Or a clamor of rooks," Sam added helpfully.

"That, too," Gimli agreed. "And a murder of crows, likewise."

"Don't!" Frodo suddenly exclaimed.

The others turned and stared at him.

"Sorry," he said shamefacedly. "Puts me in mind of crebain out of Dunland, is all."

"Remember how Legolas was the first to see what they were?" said Merry thoughtfully. "Anybody else would have thought they were a wisp of cloud. How came he, then, not to see that arrow? For he was shot in his chest and must therefore have been facing his foe."

"He saw it," Gimli said shortly.

"Then why did he not spring aside and so avoid injury?"

Gimli sat on the bed and put his head in his hands. "I am the cause," he said bleakly, his earlier shame and grief revived by Merry's innocent question. "Legolas used his very body to shield my own."

The Hobbits at once crowded about Gimli and attempted to console him. Frodo put a hand on his back, Merry and Sam took a shoulder each, and Pippin actually patted his head. Suddenly the ridiculousness of the situation impressed itself upon the Dwarf. Here he was, a hardened warrior, in the middle of a scrum of little folk, their rosy cheeked faces marked by anxiety over his welfare. He giggled as if he were a Hobbit himself and then reached out and awkwardly returned Pippin's gesture.

"You would have done the same for him," Frodo pointed out. "Would you want him to grieve if you had?"

"No, I should not wish him to feel sorrow on my account."

"And he would not wish such sadness upon _you_. Now then, Gimli, you must not go against the wishes of a friend who has proved himself most loyal."

"No, indeed you must not," Sam agreed. "It would be dishonorable to disrespect the wishes of such a friend."

"Dishonorable!" harrumphed Gimli. "Who calls me dishonorable?"

"_I_ don't," Sam said hastily.

"No one calls you dishonorable," Frodo said swiftly. "Indeed, the point is that you are _not_ dishonorable. Good friend that you are, you will respect Legolas's decision, and no one will be able to accuse you of making him unhappy, as he surely would be if he saw that you grieved."

His honor having been reaffirmed, Gimli nodded triumphantly and abruptly stood up, scattering Hobbits right and left. "Well," he boomed, "now we've cleared that up, I am returning to the House of Healing so that I may show that durned Elf that I don't begrudge the fact that he nearly got himself killed on my behalf."

Merry leaped at this opportunity. "May we come in as well?" he appealed.

"Dunno. Maybe if you enter one at a time. If a gaggle of you—"

"Exaltation," interrupted Pippin.

"—if a gaggle of you," Gimli continued cheerfully, "were to flock in, likely you'd be shooed away. But I'll see what I can do sneaking you in one by one."

Trailed by the Hobbits, Gimli strode back to the House of Healing. He looked about as he reached it. "There," he said at last, pointing to a statue. "Sam and Merry'n'Pippin, you hide behind that there, and I'll take Frodo in for a start."

The Dwarf rapped upon the door, which was opened by the Healer himself.

"Ah, Master Dwarf, you are here to see Prince Legolas, I presume."

"No call to presume," grumbled Gimli, "as it is obvious what my errand is. And I've brought along a Perian. Periannath are excellent at raising the spirits of them what are ailing—as I have reason to know!"

The Healer wrinkled his brow. "Well," he began.

"Yes," interrupted Gimli, pushing past him and dragging Frodo by the wrist. "_Well_ is the word. We all want the Elf to be well. Good day!"

Gimli and Frodo vanished around a corner as Gimli uttered that last phrase. "Well!" repeated the Healer helplessly. "Well!"

When Gimli and Frodo reached Legolas's room, they found Arwen still within. "My Lady," Gimli greeted her. "I have brought reinforcements."

"Reinforcements?" said Arwen. "I should not have thought that one Hobbit would require the plural."

"Now you mention it," said Gimli, "seems to me that there was more than one Hobbit when we set out. I'll just go and fetch the stragglers."

Gimli returned to the entrance. Leaning out the door, the Dwarf whistled. Three curly-haired heads peeked out from behind the statue. "Sam," called Gimli. "Shake your pegs!" Sam scurried over to join Gimli, and Pippin and Merry ducked back behind the statue.

As Gimli and Sam hastened toward Legolas's chamber, the Healer came out from a pantry. In his hands he bore a platter laden with bread, cheese, and butter. "Just what we were looking for," exclaimed Gimli. "Bringing up an Elf takes a lot of provender." He seized the tray from the astonished Man. "Thanking you," the Dwarf declared cheekily as he and his Hobbit friend trotted on.

When they arrived back at the chamber, Arwen made a show of looking perplexed. "Friend Gimli, you said that you were going in search of stragglers. Here is but one additional Hobbit."

Handing off the tray to Sam, Gimli clapped a hand to his forehead. "Well, bless my beard but you are right! Half a minute, my Lady, and I'll try to round up the others."

He made his way back to the entrance and once again let out a whistle. Merry and Pippin popped forth. The Dwarf beckoned to Merry, who scampered toward the door. Disappointed, Pippin crept back into hiding.

Gimli and Merry had taken no more than ten steps when the Healer emerged from a laundry room carrying a pile of fresh blankets. "Here now," the Man began to protest, but he was interrupted by Gimli. "Excellent!" the Dwarf crowed. "The Elf could use more bedding. Delicate creatures, these Fair Folk. You are to be commended, my friend, for thinking of his comfort."

With that Gimli seized a blanket from the flummoxed Healer, and he and Merry vanished around a corner before the Man had a chance to recover.

Arriving at Legolas's room, Gimli held up the blanket proudly. "My Lady, we have secured additional bedding for Legolas, lest he catch a chill."

"One blanket and one Hobbit," said Arwen merrily. "Was the blanket, then, one of the 'others' of whom you spoke?"

Gimli gave an exaggerated sigh. "I swear by Aulë that I'd as lief herd cats as herd Hobbits. I'll go and see if I can round up the last of the lot."

Gimli sallied forth once again. Behind him, Arwen gently tucked the blanket around Legolas, for it _was_ a little cool in the chamber. As for the bread, butter, and cheese, Frodo, Sam, and Merry tucked in; for, as Sam pointed out, there was no sense in letting good food go to waste.

Just before reaching the entrance, Gimli encountered the Healer one last time. "Where is your friend the Perian?" the Man asked suspiciously.

"He is outside enjoying the fresh air," Gimli said innocently. "I was just about to fetch him inside."

Gimli opened the door and whistled. Within seconds, Pippin was by his side, grinning. The Healer stared at the Hobbit, perplexed. Something about the Perian was not right, but the Man was unable to put his finger on what it was. Sadly, the Gondorian labored under a disability common to those who encounter persons of another race. To him, all Hobbits looked alike.

When Gimli and Pippin arrived at Legolas's sickroom, Gimli took the precaution of securing the door behind them. 'That Healer may take it into his head to look in on Legolas', the Dwarf said to himself, 'and it wouldn't do for him to discover that these here Hobbits are encamped in his chamber'.

It seemed that Gimli's fears would prove true. Pippin had hardly laid his hand upon the one remaining slice of bread when someone tried to lift the latch. Finding the door locked, whoever was on the other side of the door began to rap upon it. Quickly, Merry dove under the bed from one side, and Pippin (still clutching the bread) dove under it from the other side. As for Frodo and Sam, they practically knocked heads together as they both tried to climb into the wardrobe as one. Sam gave way and then climbed in after Frodo, pulling the door shut behind him.

"Half a minute," shouted Gimli, forgetting that one ought to be quiet in a sickroom. He shuffled to the door and unbolted it. Swinging it open, he found that on the other side stood not the Healer but Gandalf. "Well, well," chortled the wizard, "I see you found the loss of your clothes to have been no impediment."

"Oh, so you're responsible for that, are you?" growled Gimli. "Dwarf-stripping is only one step short of Dwarf-tossing in my book."

"I didn't remove them myself, I hope you know," Gandalf replied haughtily. "Merely suggested it, is all. Thought it might keep you abed for several hours at least."

"Hmmph," muttered the Dwarf, stepping aside and gesturing for the wizard to enter. The Istar strode to the bed, leaned down, and poked his staff underneath.

"Ow!" came a cry. Merry and Pippin crawled out from under the bed, the younger Hobbit still clutching his slice of bread. He brushed off a few specks of dust and cheerfully crammed it in his mouth. The wizard, meanwhile, stalked toward the wardrobe. "I think," he said raising his voice, "that it is time for Frodo and Sam to come out of the closet."

The door to the wardrobe swung open and the two Hobbits crawled out. Sam was shivering. "Thought it would be warm in there," he complained, "but the further back we pressed, the colder it got. I could swear that a few minutes more and we would have tumbled into a snow bank."

"Likely you would have," replied Gandalf. "Wardrobes can take you to strange places."

"Not as strange as rabbit holes," came a voice from the bed. Everyone turned to see a smiling Legolas, who was being helped to sit up by Arwen. "Pshaw!" scoffed Gandalf. "Rabbit holes are nothing as compared to wardrobes. Tumbling into a rabbit hole is child's play."

"But a rabbit hole may take you into a matrix wherein dwell powerful forces," argued the Elf. "You cannot say the same of a wardrobe."

"You underestimate the power of the wardrobe!" declared Gandalf.

"I am partial to mirrors myself," interjected Arwen. "There is a world within a looking glass."

Gandalf bowed to her. "No doubt you hold that opinion on account of your grandmother Galadriel," the wizard observed. "Although a daughter of Elrond, the possessor of Vilya, Ring of Air, must not forget that one may be swept up by a whirlwind and carried over the rainbow, if not into the very stars themselves."

Bewildered, Sam squinched up his face. "Whatever are you on about!?" he exclaimed. "All I said is that it was surprisingly cold in the wardrobe. And now you folk speak of rabbit holes and looking glasses and whirlwinds!"

"And of shoes and ships and sealing-wax and cabbages and kings," chanted Legolas.

"You are very droll, Master Elf," Gimli said wryly, "and so are recovered, I deem."

"_I_ should like some cabbage," Pippin piped up, "although I don't much care about the shoes and ships and sealing-wax. Now as to the kings, well, there is Aragorn and Éomer, and I like them both very much. But mainly," he finished, "I want the cabbage."

The company burst into laughter, but it was kindly meant. Suddenly Merry left off laughing, for he saw a small hawk fly to a tree outside the window, where it perched upon a branch. "Look!" he cried in delight. "A merlin!"

"Not for several more centuries," said Gandalf, who had his back to the window.

"Merry is referring to the bird in the tree yonder," smiled Arwen.

Gandalf turned around and saw the merlin. "Ah, I see. No doubt intended as a reminder," he mused. "Rather like those gulls that trouble Legolas's dreams."

Sam squinched up his face again, but before he could ask the Istar to explain this latest enigmatic pronouncement, he was interrupted by a knock at the door. A boy bearing a tray entered the room. The lad paused, confused, when he saw so many people in the room. "It is noon," he said haltingly, "but I do not think I bear enough food for such a company."

"As long as you bring enough food for the Elf, that will do," Gandalf reassured him.

"I'm not hungry," Legolas said quickly.

"Yes, you are," Gandalf retorted.

"No, I'm not."

"You are."

"I am _not_."

"I must say," interrupted Arwen, "that the discourse in this room does not rise to the level of the scintillating. And, meanwhile," she continued, gesturing at the boy, "this lad still stands waiting, tray in hand."

Gandalf glanced over at the lad and startled. The boy was glaring at him. "What's your name," the Istar demanded.

"Tom," the boy said reluctantly.

"Tom? Tom? What's your surname?"

"It is a riddle," the boy replied darkly. He banged the tray down upon a table. "If you require more food, send to the Master," he hissed. Then he darted from the room.

"I shall meet that one again," muttered Gandalf, looking very troubled. Only Arwen heard him, however, as a dispute had broken out over Legolas's tray. "Are you going to eat that?" Pippin was saying, pointing at a bowl of soup." "Hold, rascal!" bellowed Gimli. "You take your Hobbit appetite elsewhere! Legolas needs to build up his strength."

"_I_ don't want the soup," Legolas protested. "Let it be eaten by someone who will appreciate it."

Arwen had long ago perfected the art of wheedling whatever she wished from her foster brother, and now she turned this skill to account. "Gwador-mell," she coaxed, "you will at least drink the broth, will you not?"

In short order Legolas gave in, as Arwen had known he would.

"As Legolas will only be drinking the broth," Arwen said, turning to Gimli, "Pippin may as well pick out the larger pieces. You will see: both may be nourished from one bowl."

Gimli grudgingly agreed, and Arwen ladled pieces of meat and vegetables onto a plate. When she had finished, Legolas picked up the bowl and slowly sipped from it while Gimli hovered nearby, anxiously superintending, a napkin at the ready should Legolas spill his broth. Frodo, Sam, Gandalf, and Arwen tried not to laugh at the Dwarf's attempts to nurse the Elf. Pippin and Merry had meanwhile withdrawn to one corner of the room, where Pippin generously shared his winnings with his friend, who apparently had digested his earlier meal of bread, butter, and cheese and was again suffering from the throes of hunger.

Seeing that all was well, Arwen excused herself, for she had promised to dine with Éowyn. She also sent word to Aragorn so that he might know of Legolas's recovery.

The message arrived while Aragorn was poring over some documents with Faramir. The younger Man was reporting on the progress of repairs to the City. A company of Dwarves had arrived the previous week and the pace of reconstruction had therefore quickened. Upon hearing Arwen's message, both Men expressed their pleasure, and then they returned to their task. Faramir appeared somewhat distracted, however, and he grew increasingly so. At last Aragorn put down a chart he was studying and asked Faramir what troubled him. The young Man arose and began to pace.

"I am glad that Legolas is better, but he would never have been in peril of death if I hadn't led my troop into an ambush. My Lord, you have not upbraided me for my carelessness, and I can't think why."

"And what do you think I should have said?"

"I know what my father would have said," Faramir said bleakly.

"I am not your father, Faramir."

"You are my king, and I have failed you."

Aragorn shook his head. "You were sent on a mission to confront small bands of Orcs lurking in the vicinity of Cair Andros. It is now known that in fact an exceptionally large force had drawn near to Minas Tirith, one that by luck or cleverness had eluded the scouts who had been sent to reconnoiter your route. If I had led the sortie, I, too, would have been taken by surprise. Far from failing me, Faramir, it is much to your credit that you brought every member of your troop alive again to the City."

"I could not have done so had it not been for Legolas. He warned me of the presence of the enemy and advised me on how to proceed."

"And that is also to your credit, Faramir. It is the mark of a good leader to recognize and make effective use of good counsel."

Faramir looked gratefully at his king. "Thank you, my Lord, for your forbearance. I shall endeavor in the future to better merit the trust you have placed in me."

"Too formal a reply, Faramir," smiled Aragorn. "I am your king, yes, but I am also your friend." The Dúnadan gestured about the room. "See. This is not the Council Chamber, and we are not surrounded by courtiers. Make no speeches! Instead, sit you down again. I am Aragorn at the moment, not Elessar. Indeed, I should like to be Strider upon occasion, but this concession I must make to my kingship—that I not revert to scruffiness—at least only a little, and that rarely!"

"It is also a concession you must make to your wife, I warrant," retorted Faramir, smiling as he resumed his seat and accepted a goblet of wine from the hand of Aragorn.

"Oh ho!" laughed Aragorn, "spoken like a newly married Man." He laughed even more when Faramir's face took on the same silly expression that Gimli had commented upon a few weeks earlier.

A gentle cough was heard, and the two Men looked toward the door, where Arwen stood hand in hand with Éowyn. The two Men rose to their feet. "Welcome!" they cried out simultaneously. Then they looked at each other and laughed.

Smiling, Arwen led Éowyn into the room and placed her hand in Faramir's. "You must excuse me, Faramir," the queen said. "I must have a private word with Elessar. Éowyn, however," she added archly, "will keep you company, if that would be agreeable."

Faramir was gazing raptly into his wife's face and said nothing. "Faramir?" said Arwen.

"Oh, oh," stammered Faramir. "I am sorry. You were saying?"

"I must have a word with Aragorn. You will excuse me?"

"Of course, my Lady."

Aragorn and Arwen stepped without the room, closing the door behind them. "What would you, my Queen?" said Aragorn, smiling.

"A private word, Estel."

Aragorn waited. "Well?" he said after a minute. "I thought you wanted a private word."

"Yes, and now I have had one. Several actually."

Aragorn arched his eyebrows. Arwen laughed. "Actually, Estel, it is Éowyn who needed a private word with Faramir."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, she merely wished to inform him that the line of the Stewards is not at an end."

Aragorn looked uncomprehendingly at her. Slowly the truth dawned upon him. "Oh," he said, coloring a little.

At that moment there was a whoop from within, followed by a crash. "I hope that your chamber has no furniture that cannot be spared," laughed Arwen. Aragorn cracked open the door and peeked inside. "Just an old chair," he declared, quickly shutting the door again. "Very dowdy. Second Age, I believe. I was planning on replacing it anyway."

A little while later the door was flung open, and Faramir and Éowyn emerged, Faramir's arm protectively about his wife's shoulder. "We must return to our lodgings at once," he announced anxiously. "Éowyn needs to rest."

"I do not," protested Éowyn, but she smiled as she spoke. "Faramir, you must know that the women of Rohan exercise throughout their pregnancies. Indeed, I was planning on riding this very day."

"Riding!" exclaimed Faramir, looking horrified. "Won't that injure the baby?"

"It is said among my people that one reason for our skill upon horseback is that our children are born riding."

"Surely not!"

The others laughed gently at the confused young Man. "You should be glad that my tutor Erestor is not about," Aragorn advised him, "for if he were, he would lecture you on the subject of metaphor."

Faramir stared at him for a moment and then relaxed. He grinned. "Metaphor. Of course. My father had little use for such language, but Mithrandir taught me the term and modeled the usage."

"I well believe it," laughed Aragorn, "for metaphor is the stock in trade of he who would speak enigmatically."

"Oh ho!" teased Arwen. "You yourself have just uttered a metaphor."

"I have?"

"Stock in trade."

"That is such a tired metaphor that is should hardly count," protested Aragorn.

"That is a metaphor, too," Faramir opined, grinning.

"What?"

"Tired metaphor. You speak as if the word were a human who could weary."

"I am caught in a web of words," Aragon groaned in mock distress.

Faramir, Éowyn, and Arwen all opened their mouths simultaneously, but Aragorn forestalled them.

"I know, I know," he laughed. "That, too, is a figure of speech."

The others joined him in laughing, but then Faramir grew thoughtful. "My father spoke in metaphors more often than he knew," he said, "for many are so common that we no longer recognize them as figures of speech."

"True," agreed Éowyn. "As an instance: when one speaks of a 'family tree', no one envisions kinsmen perched upon branches."

"Pity that my father did not recognize his debt to such common notions—but then my father was not inclined to acknowledge any sort of indebtedness. He thought a Man ought to be self-sufficient—and I angered him because he thought I was not. But I am alive today because I relied upon the wisdom of the Elf, who himself is alive because of the courage of a Dwarf."

"Who is likewise alive because of the loyalty of said Elf," observed Aragorn.

"It is as I told Legolas before the skirmish," rejoined Faramir. "The Elves are superlative warriors in part because they know to fight back to back, each guarding his fellow in a circle of life."

"Another metaphor," teased Arwen. "We have returned to our former topic."

"Circled back around to it, you mean," laughed Éowyn.

"You see. I was right," said Aragorn. "We are caught in a web of words." He arose. "I think, though, that I shall try to cut myself free of this web. I wish to visit Legolas before I retire for the night."

"I will accompany you, Estel," said Arwen, likewise rising.

"Indeed, Arwen, I should be glad if you did, and Legolas will be no less glad."

With that, the King and Queen of Gondor bade goodnight to the Steward and his wife. The latter retired to their chamber, where they lost themselves in one another. And that, Reader, is at the very least a circumlocution if not a metaphor outright. We will leave it to Erestor to decide the difference, if any.


	48. Chapter 48: A New Leaf

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**I have not replied to all my reviewers yet, but I will catch up this weekend. Meanwhile, I would like to thank the following reviewers of Chapter 47 of Parallel Quest**_**:**_

_**Joee1, Yarrie, vectis, DragonsofLiberty, **__**Ilada'Jefiv, Foxgurl0000, Elfinabottle, **_**and **_**CAH**_**.**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Lord of the Rings.**_

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly has been faithfully beta reading for me for some time, but this was an eleven page chapter, single-spaced, so this time I decided not to impose on her. Whoever catches the inevitable error, please let me know.**

**Chapter 48: A New Leaf**

"He is going to leave," Gimli said.

Legolas followed Gimli's gaze to the bench where Frodo sat quietly. On the greensward before him, Pippin, Merry, and Sam were playing bowls. Sam looked back frequently at his friend, and even Pippin and Merry from time to time glanced over their shoulders at the silent Hobbit.

"Yes," agreed Legolas. "He longs to depart for the Shire. Gimli, do you remember your promise to visit Fangorn Forest? When Frodo sets forth, let us journey with him for a time so that I may hold you to your promise."

"_My_ promise? What of yours? You swore that you would accompany me to the caverns beneath Helm's Deep."

"I have not forgotten, and so I shall."

A burst of laughter drew their attention back to the bowlers. Pippin's bowl had come to rest against the jack. The youngest of the Hobbits had been crowing his success until Merry had stepped up and with a deft roll knocked Pippin's bowl to one side. It was Pippin's crestfallen expression that had provoked the laughter.

"I shall miss them," Gimli said thoughtfully.

"They shall remain for a little while longer," Legolas pointed out. "Aragorn shall give his leave, but he will be slow in doing so."

"True, and I mean to make the most of every minute of fellowship that is left to us."

Gimli arose and went to join the bowlers. It seemed that the Dwarf and the Hobbits shared a love not only for pipe smoking but for bowling. Indeed, Gimli proved to be a most proficient bowler. No matter how close each Hobbit bowl came to the jack, the Dwarf managed to nudge it aside with one of his one. The game ended with Gimli the acknowledged champion of the greensward.

While Gimli bowled, Legolas went to sit by Frodo. "You are not well," the Elf said softly.

"You are not altogether recovered, either," replied Frodo with a gentle smile. "This morning I saw you wince when you arose from the breakfast table."

"True, but my wound shall soon heal completely, leaving no trace of my ordeal."

"Leaving no trace," Frodo repeated wistfully. Unconsciously, he lifted his hand to his shoulder and rubbed at the spot where he had been pierced by the Nazgûl blade. He dropped his hand as more laughter distracted him. Legolas and Frodo looked back toward Gimli and the younger Halflings. Buried under the Hobbits, the Dwarf was trying to fend off an attack of tickling. Frodo smiled thoughtfully.

"That scene puts me in mind of that day in Dunland when Boromir was teaching Pippin and Merry swordplay. Do you remember, Legolas, how they tackled him after he rapped Pippin upon the hand?"

Legolas smiled. "Yes, I do." But his smile was a sad one. The Elf still regretted not having been kinder to the Man as he had struggled between his loyalty to the Fellowship and his desire to do what he thought best for the realm of Gondor.

"Do not be sad, Legolas," Frodo appealed to him. "Even if you had been friendlier toward Boromir, you could not have saved him. Remember! I saw him at the end—I saw how the Ring had corrupted him."

"Corrupted him? Not altogether. Once the Ring was removed beyond his reach, he rediscovered within himself a core of goodness. He died protecting your kinsmen, Frodo."

The Hobbit nodded. "Yes, Boromir played his part—both by choice and by fate, I think. Had he not forced my hand, I might have been present when the Uruk-hai attacked. Then, like Pippin and Merry, I would have been captured and the Ring taken. Legolas, I believe it was Boromir's destiny to sacrifice himself so that the Quest might be fulfilled."

'He was not the only one destined to sacrifice himself', Legolas thought to himself as Frodo once again rubbed absently at his shoulder. Then both Legolas and Frodo brightened, for they saw Gandalf approaching.

"Mae govannen, Gandalf," cried Frodo, who, like his uncle Bilbo, was now inclined to pepper his speech with elvish phrases—and why not, thought Legolas, given that his life for the past year had been so inextricably linked with the lives of the Fair Folk.

Gandalf bore two letters in his hand. One he handed to Frodo, who at once recognized the spidery handwriting of the address. "Bilbo," he said happily. "A letter from Bilbo!" Breaking the seal, Frodo quickly read the letter, which was very short. Halfway through, a line was written aslant, the letters drooping as if Bilbo had fallen asleep in the middle of a sentence. "Dear, dear Bilbo," Frodo said fondly. "He writes to hurry my return and asks whether I have taken good care of his ring."

"Well, you can honestly reply that you did 'take care' of it," Gandalf said dryly. "And what of your missives, Legolas?" the wizard continued, turning to the Elf.

Legolas examined his letters. The first bore the seal of Elrond, the second that of Galadriel. The Elf opened the latter first.

"The folk of Lórien are busy healing the hurts inflicted upon their borders by the Orc raiders," he reported. "They have planted mallorns to replace those that were set afire by the Orcs. Ah, Haldir has been named the Chief of the March Wardens."

"A wise choice," opined Gandalf. "His brothers Rumil and Orophin are noble Elves, but of the three, Haldir has always shown the greatest interest in tactics, the mastery of which is vital for the position of Chief March Warden. Moreover, Haldir speaks Westron, whilst Rumil and Orophin do not. The Chief March Warden must negotiate with those who approach the borders of Lothlórien, and the ability to converse in Common Speech is vital. But, Legolas, what news from Imladris?"

Legolas put aside Galadriel's letter and opened Elrond's. He perused it and laughed. "Elrohir has been importuning Elrond to be sent on an embassy to Edoras, and Elrond has at last agreed. He suspects, though, that Elrohir will spend more time carousing than negotiating."

"Elrohir and Éomer have certainly become good friends," smiled Frodo.

"He was not always so friendly to Elves," grinned Legolas. Gandalf and Frodo joined him in laughing, for they had both heard the tale of how Éomer had threatened to skewer Legolas when he and his troop of Rohirrim had encountered the Three Hunters on the plain of Rohan.

"Of course," Gandalf said at last, "the alliance is a good one for both peoples—but especially for the Elves, I think. Men multiply, and some tribes of Men will covet the land and wealth of the Fair Folk. The folk of Rohan will stand between the Elves and those other Men."

The Istar arose. "If you plan to reply to your letters, my friends, you should do so at once. They came via a trade caravan, and once the traders have sold their goods, they will depart without tarrying, first to journey to Lothlórien and from thence to Rivendell. It will not take long for them to sell their wares, for there is still a dearth of supplies in this city. The Orcs laid waste to the most fertile parts of this land, and until the next harvest, the traders will not lack for customers eager to supplement their allotment of foodstuffs."

Frodo and Legolas arose and bade farewell both to Gandalf and to Merry, Pippin, and Sam, who had left off scuffling and were now sitting on the greensward, quietly talking and puffing upon their pipes. The Elf and the Hobbit entered Aragorn's Hall and then parted, each to his own chambers. Legolas had hardly settled at his desk, however, when a messenger arrived from Aragorn requesting that he attend upon the king, who was walking in his private garden.

"Legolas, mellon-nín," called Aragorn as Legolas entered the garden. "Estel," Legolas greeted him. "You wished to see me?"

"Yes, Legolas." The King clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Legolas, I know that your last sortie beyond the walls of this city ended badly, but I hope that you will not take it amiss if I dispatch you once again."

"You would join forces with those who wish to dispatch me?" Legolas deadpanned.

"Pardon, Legolas?"

"You would dispatch me; the Orcs would dispatch me."

"Ha ha," said Aragorn dryly. "As to Orcs, however, it is certain that this time you will not encounter any of those creatures. Ithilien, both north and south, has been scoured repeatedly. There is not one leaf under which an Orc could have hidden."

"Then why do you dispatch me? It seems my presence would be superfluous."

"As a warrior, yes. But I would have you journey to Ithilien for another reason. As you know, Faramir has encamped at Henneth Annûn. From there he has been superintending the rebuilding of the settlements that were destroyed or damaged by our enemies. In the meantime Éowyn has remained behind in Minas Tirith. I assure you that neither Éowyn nor Faramir is happy at the separation, and I would like you to assist in the restoration of Ithilien so that Éowyn and Faramir may be the more speedily reunited."

"I am surprised that you do not ask Gimli to assist as well. He is skilled both as a mason and a smith."

"I desire you both to go. I asked you first to ascertain whether you were fit enough for the journey. There was no use asking Gimli to go if you were to remain. He would not be parted from you. He is," Aragorn added, smiling, "convinced that he alone knows how you are to be kept in health. I think not even Edwen Nana is as determined a nursemaid."

Legolas protested at the term. "Gimli is not my nursemaid!"

"Nurse-dwarf, then."

"Ar-a-gon!"

"Call him what you will, Legolas. He will persist in seeing to your comfort and health. I believe in centuries hence your friendship shall be written about as one of the most remarkable incidents to have come out of the late war. However, you have not answered my question. Are you well enough and willing to journey to Ithilien?"

"You have asked not one but two questions, Aragorn, but the answer to both is the same. Yes and yes."

"Thank you, my friend. I shall speak to Gimli after the noon meal."

"I will speak to him if you like."

"No, I should like to spend some time in his company. For one thing, that will give me an excuse to light my pipe, a practice which Arwen otherwise frowns upon! In that one respect, she is her father's daughter."

"And in that respect only?"

"No, Arwen has inherited Elrond's dry wit. On the other hand, unlike her father, Arwen is—passionate."

"You mistake Elrond, Estel. Elrond feels deeply."

"Yes, but in the matter of _expressing_ his emotions, Elrond is most restrained."

"Elrohir and Elladan tell me that that was not always the case. They remember him in the days before their mother was captured by Orcs. Afterward he was not inclined to betray the depth of his feelings to either friends or kin. They are certain that he felt great grief at the departure of Celebrían but that he reined in his emotions in order to tend to the needs of his children—Arwen especially, for she was so young."

"That is likely, and I thank him for it. Arwen would have been greatly unhappy had he given such vent to his feelings that he had been unable to take into account her own."

"My father made that mistake," Legolas observed. His voice was free of all resentment, but Aragorn knew from past conversations that the young Elf had not always been so forgiving. Aloud he said, "It is curious how many of us have suffered the loss of kin. I lost a father, you and Arwen lost mothers, and Frodo grew up deprived of both parents."

A knock was heard upon the gate. "Enter," called Aragorn. The Man had scarcely spoken when Gandalf strode into the garden. The wizard greeted Aragorn and Legolas and then looked about. "Legolas," he observed, "you have done well in reviving the gardens of this City, but I think this garden in especial is testimony to your skill."

"I knew this garden should be Arwen's," the Elf replied, "and I confess I took more care in this place than in some of the others."

"Arwen will be grateful for your efforts," interjected Aragorn. "Not all Men in this City appreciate gardens, but Arwen is unfailing in her love for them."

Legolas smiled his pleasure at the knowledge that he could bring joy to Arwen in this place of stone. Then his thoughts turned to Ithilien, and suddenly he was anxious to depart for that land. 'I know why Frodo must leave', he thought to himself. 'This is a grand city, but a Hobbit must have scope for birds nesting and mushroom picking, and an Elf must have forests'.

Aloud he said, "My friends, I must reply to letters I received from Elrond and Galadriel. You will excuse me, I hope."

His friends asked Legolas to remember them to Elrond and Galadriel, and the Elf returned to his chamber. Before he began to write, he reread the letters. Elrond's contained greetings from many Rivendell Elves. Erestor bade him remember his map lore, and Glorfindel adjured him to practice his archery. "One war is over," warned the balrog slayer, "but hostilities may break out on another front." Legolas smiled wryly, for he had but lately learned the truth of that assertion. He wondered whether he should write of his injury. He decided that he would. News of the skirmish would eventually reach Imladris, and Elrond and Glorfindel would not be pleased if they learned that he had withheld the matter from them. He dipped his quill in the ink and began to write.

As he wrote, the door opened and he heard Gimli stomp across the room. Panting, the Dwarf threw himself upon a settle.

"Those Hobbits have a strength that belies their size," he gasped.

"Their strength arises from their character, I think," Legolas replied without turning his head.

"Aye," agreed Gimli. "There are feisty, brave, and loyal. I shall miss them," the Dwarf added softly, repeating the words he had uttered earlier that day.

Legolas turned to look at his friend and saw that the Dwarf's eyes glistened with what looked suspiciously like tears.

"_I _shall remain, Gimli," the Elf exclaimed, trying to rally his friend. "_I_ shall not leave you!"

"No, but I will leave _you_," Gimli answered morosely. "I shall die, Legolas."

The Elf had no answer to this. He sat silent for several minutes. Now the boot was on the other foot, for Gimli was suddenly just as anxious to lift Legolas's spirits as Legolas had been desirous of lifting his. "As Aulë is my witness," the Dwarf harrumphed, "I am moping like some, like some—_Elf_! You have been an ill influence on me, Legolas, and in requital I shall haunt your steps!"

"You do that," Legolas retorted. "I shall be equal to the challenge. Dog me every step of the way between here and the Havens—I shan't complain!"

Cheerful once more, Legolas returned to his letter and finished explaining how he had managed to take an arrow to the chest. As he wrote, he was careful to not put any blame for the misadventure upon his friend Gimli

By the time Legolas had finished his letter to Elrond, it was noon, and he put aside Galadriel's letter for later. With Gimli at his side, he made his way to Aragorn and Arwen's private dining hall. The other members of the Fellowship were already seated, as was Éowyn. In the absence of her husband, she always dined with the King and Queen.

After lunch, as promised, Aragorn took Gimli and vanished into some distant chamber where they might smoke without offending Arwen, who herself vanished into some chamber with Éowyn. That left the Hobbits, three of whom began to clamor that the Elf join them in an excursion to a small stand of trees within sight of the City, one of the only patches of wood that had not been destroyed during the siege.

"Perhaps," Pippin said hopefully, "there are mushrooms in that wood."

Legolas suspected that the forest would have been picked clean of anything edible, but he did not wish to discourage his friends. "I must finish a letter," he said, "but if you will wait until tomorrow, we can make a day of it."

The next morning Legolas and Gimli arose early and went to the kitchen to collect a hamper laden with luncheon enough for a week of excursions. Gimli grunted as he hefted it.

"Legolas, you are high in the favor of the Cook, I think. Whenever I ask him for a bit of food, he gives me just that—a bit of food. When _you_ ask, he gives you food enough for a banquet."

"I know," Legolas laughed. "It was the same in Rivendell. When we were elflings, the Cook would chase Elrohir and Elladan with a ladle if they set foot in his domain. I, however, he would shower with biscuits. He always made excuses for his generosity. He had baked too many biscuits, they would only go stale, he hated wasting food—those were the sort of things he would mutter, trying the while to look gruff."

"I suppose," Gimli opined, "that it may have something to do with your being skinny. Cooks always want to fatten up those what are skinny. Now as for me, it is long since I suffered from that defect."

Here Gimli thumped his own belly approvingly. Legolas grinned. "No, Gimli. No one would ever accuse you of being skinny."

"I should hope not!"

By now they had reached the stable, where they left the hamper so that the hostler might place it in the wagon that they would drive to the wood. Then they went to collect the Hobbits, who were polishing off the remnants of a very good breakfast.

"I do hope the horse will be able pull the wagon," jested Gimli, "for these Hobbits carry more baggage than we told the hostler to allow for."

Laughing and bantering, the party proceeded to the stable, where the hostler had hitched a horse to a wagon. The great draft horse plodded steadily toward the wood, the beast's nature so placid that even Gimli took a turn at the reins. By the time they had reached the forest, the Hobbits declared that it was time for Second Breakfast. Legolas was not hungry, but he lounged upon the grass while his friends ate. "I shall eat my portion in a little while," he assured the others.

After Gimli and the Hobbits had dined, Legolas joined them in exploring the wood. To Pippin's disappointment, they found no mushrooms even though several spots looked likely—shady and damp. In fact, they found nothing edible—no berries, no nuts, no palatable leaves, no sign of tuberous plants. Legolas was surprised. He had assumed the place would be picked over, but he had not thought that the Men of Gondor had enough woodcraft to so thoroughly denude the forest of its food resources.

Legolas at last felt a little hungry, and he returned to where they had left the hamper. His portion from breakfast, wrapped in cloth, had been replaced in the basket atop the food reserved for their luncheon. However, when Legolas opened the lid of the hamper, he saw that the cloth-wrapped bundle was gone. He rummaged about the basket to be certain, but there was no sign of his breakfast. 'Odd', thought Legolas. 'I suppose an animal could have gotten into the basket, nosing aside the lid, but if one had, I should expect to see fragments of food scattered about. Even if the animal had tried to drag off the bundle, it should have opened and some of the food would have fallen out'. Legolas considered. The Hobbits, especially the younger ones, were always hungry, but Legolas did not like to think that one of them had been so greedy and inconsiderate as to eat the Elf's portion. However, he did not see that any other explanation was possible. A little miffed, Legolas returned to his friends.

"How did you like your breakfast, Legolas?" Pippin called as the Elf approached. Legolas looked sharply at the youngest Hobbit. Was the Halfling being disingenuous?

"I would answer your question, Master Peregrin," the Elf replied sharply, "if I had any way of judging."

The Hobbit looked so completely bewildered that Legolas knew at once that Pippin was not the culprit. Nor, he realized, could it have been any of their party, for they had all stayed together the entire morning.

"I am sorry if I spoke shortly, Pippin," Legolas apologized. "I did not eat breakfast because my portion was no longer in the hamper."

"If your breakfast was not in the basket, then where was it?" exclaimed Sam.

"If I knew where it was," Legolas rejoined merrily, "I should have eaten it!"

"A mystery," cried Merry. "A mystery is better than mushrooms!"

The three younger Hobbits leaped up and made as if to rush back toward the spot where the hamper lay.

"Hold!" shouted Gimli. "If there are any clues to be found, they are sure to be trampled by you furry-footed rascals. Legolas and I shall look into this matter."

Gimli and Legolas returned to the hamper, and Legolas began to examine the ground carefully. "There are boot marks," he said at last, "smaller than either yours or mine. The owner of the boots is not very heavy, for the marks are not deep."

"A man-child from the city," guessed Gimli.

"What would a child of Minas Tirith be doing wandering about alone outside the City?" Legolas wondered. "For alone he is, I deem. We have neither seen nor heard any humans this morning, and, save for scouts trained in concealment, the adults of that race are not proficient in hiding themselves."

"Aye," agreed Gimli, "and scouts have no reason for frequenting this little wood—and if they did they would not bring their children!"

Legolas and Gimli began to follow the tracks. At length they spied a piece of cloth.

"Oh ho," said Gimli. "Yonder is the food wrapper. No sign of any of the food, though."

"No, not a crumb," said Legolas. He picked up the cloth and looked about. "Also no sign of our quarry. The trail ends here."

"Impossible! He can't have sprouted wings."

"No, but one does not need wings to find sanctuary in a tree."

Legolas himself had effected many an escape through climbing, so it was natural for him to think of that avenue of retreat. He looked up and carefully studied the surrounding trees.

"There," he said at last, pointing. Several feet above them, pressed against a tree bole, was a dirty creature dressed in rags, its hair in dreadlocks, its ears pointed.

"Orc spawn!" bellowed Gimli. Before Legolas could stop him, the Dwarf had pulled a throwing axe from his belt and flung it at the creature. The thing threw itself back from the tree trunk. It escaped injury by doing so but lost its balance. Plunging from the tree, it landed at Gimli's feet. The Dwarf raised his great axe.

"Hold, Gimli," shouted Legolas. For a moment the Dwarf stood with axe upraised but then he slowly lowered the weapon. When he did, the creature huddled at his feet exploded into motion, springing to its feet. Before it could take two steps, however, Legolas had it by the wrist. "This is no Orc," the Elf said excitedly.

"What is it, then? Pray do not tell me that Gollum left offspring!"

"No, Gimli. It is an—ow!"

"An 'ow'? Never heard of an 'ow'."

Legolas was trying to extricate one of his hands from the creature's mouth and for several minutes did not bother to answer. "An Elf," he said at last. "It—I mean, he—is an Elf."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Gimli. "If I've learned one thing, it is that Elves are cleaner than fish what spend their entire lives in water."

"Not an Elf who has been enslaved in an Orc fortress," retorted Legolas. "Look at him, Gimli. 'Tis true he is dirty and ragged. ''Tis true that his hair is tangled and matted and that he wears boots of Orcish make. But look at his features! Look at his limbs! He is no more an Orc than I am."

Gimli peered closely at their prisoner, who had stopped trying to bite Legolas but was still tugging in an attempt to pull his wrist free. Squinting, trying to see past the dirt, Gimli at length nodded.

"You're right, lad. That is no Orc." The Dwarf wrinkled his nose.

"Stinks, though. If I was to judge by odor alone, I'd say he was an Orc. Howsomever, those features of his are too delicate, his limbs too straight and slender for him to be a goblin. Weren't for the dirt and the rags and the stink, he could pass for a pointy-eared princeling."

Legolas ignored the last comment and set about trying to calm their captive. He did not want to tie the skittish creature in order to convey him to the City unless it were unavoidable. Unfortunately, Legolas knew only a few words of Black Speech (all of them oaths), and the strange Elf seemed to know not one word of Sindarin. Legolas began to try out phrases in the Common Speech and the various mannish languages. One phrase that seemed to have an effect was 'ǽt and wǽt'. "Ǽt and wǽt," repeated the strange Elf, licking his lips. Legolas realized that the Elf had adopted Orcish mannerisms as well as dress. 'Ah well', he said to himself, 'that which has been learned can be unlearned. New habits can replace old'. Aloud, Legolas repeated the phrase 'ǽt and wǽt', smiling and pointing back in the direction of the hamper.

"What are you saying?" Gimli asked. "What does that phrase mean?"

"Meat and drink, Gimli. I think this Elf must be the one who has devoured everything edible within this forest. His Orcish masters did at least feed him, and separated from them he has been very hungry. We shall tame him with food."

The strange Elf relaxed and allowed himself to be led back to the hamper. He squatted on his hams—again, very orc-like in his mannerisms—and watched eagerly as Legolas removed a bundle from the basket and unwrapped it. As soon as the food within was revealed, the strange Elf snatched a hunk of bread and crammed it into his mouth.

Gimli made a face. "I know my table manners ain't something what I can brag on, but this Elf makes 'em look downright refined."

After swallowing the bread—seemingly without benefit of chewing—the strange Elf looked hopefully at Legolas, who had hastily withdrawn the remaining food out of his reach. Legolas reached in to the bundle, broke off a tiny piece of cheese, and handed it to the Elf, who looked disappointed but took what was proffered. Doling out small bites in this fashion, Legolas fed the rescued Elf everything within the bundle. Then he offered him a cup of wine, which the stranger drained in one gulp. Legolas offered him a second cup of wine, which met the same fate as the first. Legolas grinned. He didn't think it would be necessary to tie the Elf in order to carry him to Minas Tirith.

Sure enough, the combination of the food and the drink had a soporific effect, and before too long the Elf was sound asleep. "Watch him whilst I fetch the wagon," Legolas instructed Gimli. He brought round the conveyance, spread his cloak in its bed, and with Gimli's assistance lifted the Elf onto it. Then Legolas went to fetch the Hobbits.

"Poor creature!" exclaimed Sam when he saw the Elf sleeping in the wagon bed. "He looks as poorly as ever Frodo and I did when we were forced to don Orc rags."

"Yes," agreed Frodo, "and he has been as hungry and thirsty, too. I warrant."

"I am sure he will look much better once he has been given a bath," Merry opined.

"Aye, and once his hair has been washed and the tangles combed out," added Pippin.

"After he has bathed and been clothed properly, you do think he will be an Elf again, don't you," Frodo appealed to Legolas.

"He is an Elf now, Frodo," Legolas replied, puzzled.

"Oh, in his features, yes, but I cannot help but think of Gollum when I look at him. Gollum was Smeagol once, and his kinship was with hobbit-kind. I thought he could be restored—that he could be Smeagol once more, but in the end no trace of Smeagol remained. I pray that will not be the fate of this poor prisoner."

Legolas shook his head. "Their situations were very different, Frodo. Gollum thought he had reason to cling to that which corrupted him. The ring tantalized him with its promises. I am sure, though, that the Orcs never promised their slaves anything but ill treatment. This Elf did not chose to remain with his enemies but was compelled to do so. It is true, of course," continued Legolas, "that he was at a loss as to what to do once his masters fell in battle. In fear and uncertainty he fled toward a forest, a place that would naturally appeal to an Elf."

Frodo nodded thoughtfully. "That choice in itself shows that, however badly he has been abused, at some level he has not forgotten his true self."

"Indeed, and once he sees that he is no longer at the mercy of cruel masters, dependent upon them for sustenance, I warrant that he will shed the orcish habits he has had to adopt for survival's sake and assume behavior in keeping with his origins."

"Origins," Frodo said thoughtfully. "I wonder where he hails from."

"His hair is very dirty," Legolas observed. "Even so, it is plain that it is not black, as it would be if he were a Rivendell Elf. Few Elves were stolen from Lothlórien. I suspect, then, that he was captured from Mirkwood. We shall make inquiries, and if we are very lucky, he may have a birthmark that will serve to identify him."

When the wagon arrived at Minas Tirith, Legolas sent word to Aragorn that they had recovered an Elf who had been a slave amongst the Orcs. Then he gently roused the Elf, and he and Gimli led the bewildered former captive to their chambers.

"I think he may recover himself more quickly if he is lodged with us rather than in the House of Healing," Legolas explained to Gimli. "He may recognize that he and I are akin. I shall also continue to speak Sindarin. It may be that he shall begin to remember phrases in that tongue."

Arriving at their rooms, Legolas asked a servant to draw a bath, and then he encouraged the Elf to shed his rags and step into the warm water. The discarded garments he gave to the servant with orders that they be burned forthwith, for they were crawling with vermin.

Turning back toward the bathing tub, Legolas smiled to see the Elf grinning and splashing. "I think," he said to Gimli, who was himself grinning, "that Frodo need not fear that this Elf has forgotten himself."

"No, indeed not! For no Orc has ever been known to enjoy bathing. But, Legolas, we cannot keep referring to him as 'the Elf' or 'this Elf'." We must ask him his name, but how are we to do so?"

"Come to the tub," Legolas urged. The two friends knelt down beside it. The rescued Elf looked at them curiously. "Nama bith Gimli," Legolas said, pointing to the Dwarf. He pointed to himself. "Nama beo Legolas." He pointed at the Elf. "Nama beost?" he said, pitching his voice upward and raising his eyebrows in inquiry. The Elf looked back at him blankly. Legolas repeated the performance. "Ah," said the Elf, suddenly brightening. He pointed at himself. "Lurtz."

Gimli grimaced. "I'm no student of languages, but even I know that Lurtz is no name for an Elf. It's a hideous name and it should only be attached to a hideous creature."

Legolas fervently agreed. He considered for several minutes. Then he placed his hand on the Elf's chest. "Náht Lurtz," he said, shaking his head. "Náht Lurtz! Nama beost Edenlass. Edenlass," he repeated, pointing at the Elf. "Legolas," he said, pointing at himself. "Gimli," he finished, pointing at the Dwarf. He looked enquiringly at the Elf in the tub. "Edenlass," said that Elf, putting his own hand on his chest. "Edenlass," he said one more time, repeating the gesture.

"Excellent!" smiled Legolas.

"What does the name mean, Legolas?" Gimli asked.

"It means 'new leaf'."

The Dwarf nodded approval. "New leaf. Well chosen, my friend. Well chosen, indeed."

Edenlass had meanwhile returned his attention to the water and was happily splashing. The mat by the tub was soaked, and so were Legolas and Gimli's leggings, but neither minded. It pleased them to see Edenlass take such joy in something that must have been long denied him. Edenlass suddenly stopped splashing and a look of amazement came over his face. "Nen," he cried. "Nen!"

"What is he saying?" said Gimli.

"Water," laughed Legolas. "That is the Sindarin word for 'water'!"

"Well," chuckled Gimli. "It is said that the way to a Dwarf's heart is through his stomach. I reckon the way to an Elf's heart is through his bath!"

The two friends grinned at each other. Suddenly Legolas scooped up a handful of water and splashed it upon Gimli. "Scamp!" roared the Dwarf. He grabbed a pitcher and upended it over Legolas's head. Rivulets of water running down his face, Legolas collapsed giggling upon the floor.

"Hah," Gimli gloated. "You should know better than to—hey!"

Edenlass had seized the abandoned pitcher, filled it, and dumped it over the Dwarf's head.

"Oh, he _is_ an Elf—no question about it," Gimli pretended to grumble, reaching for a tumbler. Legolas, meanwhile, grabbed for a vase.

There is no telling how badly the room would have been flooded had not the water fight been interrupted by a knock upon the door. "Enter," cried Legolas, trying to suppress his giggling.

Aragorn peered cautiously into the room. Behind him stood Gandalf, holding his staff in front of him as if to ward off danger.

"It's safe enough," called Legolas. "The worst that may happen is that you get a little wet." Man and Wizard stepped into the room, taking care not to slip in the puddles. Edenlass greeted them by pointing at his bath. "Nen," he said cheerfully.

"So this is the Elf you found in the forest," said Gandalf. "Gimli, I hear tell that you mistook him for an Orc. I don't see how you could have made such a mistake."

"Had you seen him at first, Gandalf, you would understand. He was filthier than ever Aragorn was!"

"That is dirty indeed," Gandalf said with pretended solemnity. "He is a Mirkwood Elf, isn't he?"

By now Edenlass's hair, although tangled, was free of dirt, and it could be seen that his hair was as golden as Legolas's. The two Elves also had in common blue eyes.

"Yes," agreed Legolas. "I do think it very likely that he is from Mirkwood. Unfortunately, he does not remember his elven name. Still, tomorrow I shall write to my father on his account. I do not think he is over five-hundred years old, so it likely that folk still dwell in Mirkwood who would remember his loss. His hair and eye color are shared by many, but, see, upon his shoulder he has a birthmark that looks like a bird with wings outspread. That may be enough to distinguish him from others who have been lost to our foes. If not, he has already remembered one word of Sindarin, so perchance in time he will be able to help in his own recovery by telling us some particulars about himself."

"If he does not remember his elven name," asked Aragorn, "how does he style himself?"

"He went by the name of 'Lurtz'."

Aragorn grimaced as Gimli had.

Legolas laughed. "Fear not, Aragorn. We have named him anew. He is Edenlass."

"Ah," Gandalf said approvingly. "New Leaf. Very appropriate. I warrant that by the end of this tale everyone shall have names that are fitting. What is and what should be shall be one and the same."

"Enough philosophy," grumbled Gimli. "Edenlass is yawning, and he shivers. The water has grown cold whilst you have stood about yammering."

'Dwarf-nurse', Aragorn mouthed at Legolas when Gimli's back was turned. Legolas grinned. At least, he thought to himself, the Dwarf would have a new person upon whom to practice. Aloud he said, "Aragorn, I hope you will not take it amiss if I absent myself from your table for the next several days. I think I had better take my meals in the garden with Edenlass. I hope, though, that before I depart for Ithilien I may break bread with you on more than one occasion."

"And when you and Gimli set out, will Edenlass accompany you?"

"Yes, I believe that would be best. To any Elf a forest would be more congenial than a city. In Edenlass's case, it is especially important that he be comfortable in his surroundings. I am, moreover, the only one here with whom he shares kinship, and except for you and Gandalf, I am the only one who speaks Sindarin."

Both Aragorn and Gandalf agreed that what Legolas said was wise. They bade their friend good night and departed. Gimli, meanwhile, had gotten Edenlass out of the tub and into some of Legolas's clothes that were a little too large for the younger Elf but would do until others might be sewn. Legolas smiled fondly as he saw that the Dwarf had set about combing the tangles from the young Elf's hair. He remembered the day at Edoras that Gimli had combed straw from his hair.

"What are you chuckling about," Gimli harrumphed when he caught sight of his friend's face.

"I was remembering Éomer's expression when you pretended to pick lice from my hair."

"Speaking of lice," Gimli said, "this lad really _does_ have lice. I am, however, doing my best to remove each and every nit."

Gimli worked in silence for several more minutes.

"By the by," he said at last, feigning casualness, "you do remember that I snore."

"I am not likely to forget it, Gimli."

"I'm just mentioning it because we must decide where Edenlass is to sleep tonight. I wouldn't mind sharing my bedstead, but, well, as I said, I snore. I wouldn't want him to be troubled by my racket, so I reckon he ought to sleep in _your_ bed."

Gimli removed another nit from the young Elf's hair.

"How _very_ thoughtful of you," Legolas said sardonically.

"Don't mention it," smirked Gimli. "Of course, it is only for one night, until the servants can set up another bedstead."

One night, Legolas thought gloomily. One louse could lay a prodigious number of nits in the course of one night.

Gimli finished combing out Edenlass's hair and discarded the towel and the wooden comb in the fireplace. Then the Dwarf retired to his bedstead. As for Legolas, he took Edenlass by the hand and led him to his own bed. Once they had crawled underneath the duvet, Edenlass gripped a handful of Legolas's nightshirt and snuggled as close as he could to the older Elf. Sighing contentedly, the young Elf immediately fell sound asleep.

When Legolas awoke early the next morning, Edenlass slept on. In his hand the younger Elf still clutched the older Elf's nightshirt. 'Ah, well', Legolas said to himself, 'I suppose a few lice are a small price to pay to friendship. If I were to say otherwise, I would be nitpicking'. Smiling at his own pun, he allowed himself to drift back into sleep.


	49. Chapter 49: Joinings and Sunderings

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**I would like to thanks the following reviewers**_**: sazza-da-vampire, JastaElf, Ilada'Jefiv, Foxgurl0000, Elfinabottle, vectis, **_**and **_**CAH**_**. I would also like to thank **_**Joee1**_**, who in one fell swoop reviewed nine chapters. Also, congratulations to **_**Yarrie**_**, who was the first to recognize that in Chapter 47 the reference to Tom, whose last name is a 'riddle', is a nod to Voldemort in the Harry Potter Series. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit**_** and **_**The Lord of the Rings.**_

**The birth and death of Edwen Nana's baby is described in the story of "Edwen Nana". The story of how Edwen Nana met Tathar is in the first two chapters of "The Clearing." Legolas sees the vaporous eagle destroy an equally vaporous snake in Chapter 20 of this story ("Snakes on a Plain").**

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly**

**Chapter 49: Joinings and Sunderings**

"That plant is infested with aphids," Edenlass said in passable Sindarin.

Legolas knelt beside the plant. "Yes," he agreed. "It is indeed infested. Edenlass, would you gather some ladybugs and place them upon its leaves?"

Edenlass nodded and went off in search of the voracious beetles. Legolas stood up and brushed the dirt from his leggings. Unconsciously, he lifted a hand to his scalp, which had only recently been cured of its own infestation.

"I swear no more of those critters are left in your hair," came an apologetic voice. Legolas glanced over to where Gimli sat on a log drawing upon his pipe. The Elf smiled. "I know, Gimli."

"You are not angry with me, are you?"

Legolas shook his head. "No. It would have been far worse if the lice had taken up lodgings on your person. After all, we only had to pick them from my hair. Had it been you, we would have had to police your beard as well."

"True! True!"

"Moreover, Gimli, after battling Orcs, what are a few lice?"

Gimli looked relieved. He arose from the log and strode to the row of vegetables he had been weeding before he had paused to take a break. His face intent, he knelt down upon his folded cloak and resumed his task. Legolas smiled. Gimli took the task of weeding as seriously as that of battling larger enemies. Indeed, Legolas had overheard the Dwarf counting the weeds he dispatched with the same intensity with which he had once numbered fallen foes.

Edenlass returned from his errand bearing a cloth in which he had wrapped the ladybugs. Unrolling it, he carefully placed the colorful insects upon the ailing plant. Legolas nodded approvingly. Then he gestured toward a row of peas. "Let us pick these pods," he called, "and afterward we shall dig up some carrots."

A few hours later the trio carried a basket to the tent sheltering the field kitchen. In the basket were the peas and carrots as well as several heads of cabbage that Gimli had harvested with a ferocity similar to that with which he had on a time beheaded Orcs.

The Cook greeted them gratefully. "It is good to have more to work with than salted pork," he exclaimed.

"You shall have even more vegetables to choose from once my kinsmen arrive," Legolas promised. "In his last letter, my father informed me that the emigrants had almost finished their preparations and would shortly be setting out. By now they should be drawing near."

"And they are all as skilled as you at gardening?" the Cook said eagerly.

"Even more skilled," Legolas assured him. "I received no especial training in husbandry, so amongst my people I am not accounted an exceptional gardener."

"Well!" the Cook said fervently. "If _you_ are not an exceptional gardener, I should like to meet some of your kin who _are_!"

"And so you shall—and soon," promised Legolas.

The very next day Legolas's words proved true, for the elven company arrived at the Field of Cormallen, where they were to encamp until more permanent shelters were erected for them. To Legolas's delight, Gilglîr rode at their head. To his equal delight, Edwen Nana also rode in the vanguard. The elleth immediately set about mothering everyone in reach. She ordered Faramir to clean his plate and Legolas to change his tunic and scolded Gimli for his smoking—'nasty habit fit only for Trolls and dragons'. Above all, she took charge of Edenlass.

Soon after the arrival of the elven company, Gilglîr took Legolas aside to tell him what had been learned about that young Elf's parentage.

"Folk remember that upon a time an elfling with a birthmark such as Edenlass's vanished after an Orc raid upon a village near the border between Northern and Southern Mirkwood."

"Then we may reunite him with his kin," Legolas said excitedly.

Gilglîr shook his head sadly. "Most of his family were slain in that raid. The survivors searched for the lost elfling. When he could not be found, in their grief they departed for the Havens."

The two friends heard a happy shout and turned to watch as a laughing Edenlass raced across a meadow, an equally mirthful Edwen Nana in pursuit, in her hands the washrag that she had been trying to apply to his face.

"Edenlass," Gilglîr said softly. "New Leaf. That is a good name—a fitting name. I think he should keep that name, Legolas. You took back your birth name, leaving behind a name that was no name at all. However, it is not always good to keep one's birth name. It is not unheard of for an Elf to adopt a new name if his old one no longer seems suitable."

"What was his name?"

"Othronn."

"Othronn—that means 'fortress-under-the-ground'. He was named in honor of my father's Great Hall?"

"Yes, I think that is so."

"You are right, Gilglîr. The name does not suit him. He should continue to be New Leaf."

More happy shouts were heard. "We cannot reunite him with his family," Legolas said slowly.

"But we can provide him with a family nonetheless," smiled Gilglîr.

"Exactly," grinned Legolas. "Actually, _we_ will not have to provide him with anything. We merely need to step out of the way and take care not to be trampled by a mother in pursuit of a child!"

Legolas bade Gilglîr good-day and strolled to a patch of ground that he had turned into his private garden. Here he had planted flowers rather than vegetables. Occasionally Gimli would join him in tending these flowers, but the Dwarf was much more amenable to gardening when the end result was something that he could eat.

As Legolas weeded, he thought about what Edwen Nana had told him about her lost husband and child. The elleth had gone into labor at the very moment at which an Orc arrow had struck her husband from behind, killing him instantly. The infant had been born with red hair and a red birthmark upon his shoulder, and Edwen Nana had named him 'Born'. The name meant 'red', and it had been her husband's nickname. Born lived only long enough to stare intently at his mother and to lift his tiny, perfectly formed hand as if making a gesture of farewell. The elleth had felt as if the spirit of her husband had come to say farewell, a feeling strengthened when she saw a redpoll flitting into a nearby tree.

A few days after the death of Born, her breasts aching from their burden of milk, Edwen Nana agreed to succor the infant Legolas, whose mother had died in childbirth. With Gilglîr as an escort and the infant Legolas in her arms, she had journeyed to the clearing where stood the cottage in which Legolas would spend the first five years of his life. That is when she had become Edwen Nana, 'Second Mama', for her birth name had been Bereniell.

Soon after the newly formed little family had arrived in the clearing, by order of Gilglîr a woodcutter came to the cottage and set about fashioning furniture for the simple home. As he worked, the woodcutter told Edwen Nana of his own family. His wife had given birth to an infant a few days earlier, and Edwen Nana was both amazed and delighted when she discovered that this infant, like her own lost Born, had red hair. It was, after all, an uncommon hair color for an Elf.

The infant's name was Tathar, 'Willow', but Edwen Nana nicknamed him Redpoll, and it comforted her to look upon him. Often she nursed him so that the woodcutter's wife might assist her husband in the felling and splitting of trees. Edwen Nana loved Redpoll and Legolas alike, and the two played together as brothers. In later years Edwen Nana had confided to Legolas that on occasion she had wondered whether the spirit of Born had come to rest within Redpoll, just as she had wondered whether the spirit of her husband had briefly inhabited the body of her infant son.

"But I don't believe that anymore," she had said. "Born had quickened long before the death of his father. Born had his own spirit. Likewise, Tathar had his own spirit before ever Born died, and I shouldn't like to think that a child of mine would move into another's body and kick out the resident!"

Her realization that Tathar, her little Redpoll, was not her son did not alter her feelings toward him. She loved him unreservedly, just as she loved Legolas unreservedly. Looking on as Edwen Nana played with Edenlass, Legolas knew that she would love him unreservedly, too. Edenless was marked by a birthmark shaped like a bird—it was red, too!—but Edwen Nana would be indifferent to the coincidence. "Life is filled with coincidences," she would say, "but most of them we don't notice. Whenever two events occur at the same time, we have a coincidence, for that is the meaning of the word. Now, every so often the juxtaposition of these two events strikes us as significant and we marvel and say that such a coincidence must betoken something of great import. But what about all the other events that take place side by side? Those we simply ignore! Well, I say we can't pick and choose. Either coincidences are significant or they are not. Since we ignore the most of them, I say not."

"Edwen Nana is a wise woman," Gandalf had laughed when Legolas repeated the conversation to him. "It is true that we make much of certain coincidences that are just that—coincidences! It is rather like the way we see faces in the bark of trees or in water stains on walls or in the scorch marks on toasted bread. With millions of trees in this world, each covered by striations of bark of various textures and colors, mere chance must result in an occasional concatenation that is face-like. Logic tells us that these seeming patterns are random and meaningless—their existence called into being by eyes predisposed from infancy to search out faces."

Legolas nodded. It was well known that a baby, if given a choice, would gaze upon a face in preference to anything else.

"Nevertheless," continued the Istar, "whenever someone picks out a face amidst the riot of lines that surrounds us, ignoring some lines in preference to others, folk are enthralled. Some folk even claim to be able to recognize specific faces. One will say that he has seen the face of Gil-galad on the side of an oak; another will claim to have seen the face of Eärendil in a heel of bread. On occasion someone will claim to see even the face of Eru Ilúvatar himself peering out at him from the surface of a rock newly shattered by frost. Oddly," the wizard added, "people are not inclined to recognize Berthold the Butcher, Baldwin the Baker, and Claus the Candlestick Maker. Only a great being is ever recognized—although, as lesser men are more common in the world, one would think that at least a few might be found amongst these material portraits."

"From what you say," Legolas observed, "these so-called portraits are in effect sketched by the onlooker. But why do people insist upon seeing such things?"

"I do not think folk can _avoid_ seeing these faces. If the markings admit of such an interpretation, then a face is what people will see. Of course, folk differ as to how seriously they take the phenomenon. One may seize upon the supposed face as portentous, or one may be skeptical of such an interpretation."

"It seems to me that skepticism ought to be the rule," Legolas said disapprovingly.

"Perhaps," Gandalf said noncommittally, "but folk are glad to think that the gods and ancestors may come amongst us upon occasion. People want to believe that someone or something watches over them—that they _matter_ enough for someone to watch over them—and so they are glad to see faces where logic tells us that none exist."

"Then they see the faces of gods and heroes because they want to see those faces."

"Not only want to see them, Legolas—_need_ to see them. Why do you look so doubtful? Time was when you were eager to see the future foretold in a wisp of cloud. Or have you forgotten the Plain of Rohan, where you thought you saw a vapor eagle shred an equally vaporous snake?"

Legolas did remember. 'Is that a sign?' he had asked Gandalf hopefully. 'I don't see why it shouldn't be', the wizard had replied. 'Let us strive to make it so'.

Legolas had been puzzled at the latter phrase. Either something was an omen or it was not. Or so he had thought. But Gandalf had said that most 'signs and omens' were confirmed as such only as a result of actions whose import could be judged only afterward. In which case, Legolas thought to himself, the entire notion of omens made little sense. For what was the good of a sign if it did not foretell anything? How could a prophecy _be_ a prophecy if it predicted nothing, its 'truth' dependent upon the subsequent actions of folk dwelling in Middle-earth? A few weeks after the initial conversation, he again tackled the wizard on the subject.

"People look for reasons to hope, Legolas," the Istar had explained. "There is no greater hope than to believe that some mighty power favors your cause. Indeed, folk are encouraged by the mere notion that such a power would take an interest in their doings, regardless of whether it intends to take action on their behalf. Thus, if anything can be interpreted as an omen, folk will be inclined to see it as such."

Legolas cast back to his lessons from Erestor, who had stressed the importance of applying logic to the evidence at hand. 'Such beliefs are not in keeping with the lessons of Natural Philosophy'—that had been Erestor's byword when confronted by the irrational, and now his pupil repeated the phrase.

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Legolas, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," Gandalf replied patiently. "Now, as to the matter of omens, perhaps you ought to think of them as neither predictions nor promises but as encouragement. That is, they are reminders of what folk may accomplish if they do not lose hope. If they come to be seen as prognostications, it is because they become self-fulfilling prophecies."

"Self-fulfilling prophecies?"

"The more one believes that one can accomplish something, the likelier one is to succeed. Folk see something that they believe to be an omen. The phenomenon gives people hope, making it likelier that they will succeed and thereby confirming their belief that what they took as an omen really was such."

Legolas shook his head bemusedly. "So folk engage in wishful thinking when they claim that something is an omen—and their belief may bring about whatever they believe the omen to have foretold?"

"Exactly, my lad. So you see: it does not really matter who or what conjures up an omen as long as it brings about the desired result."

"Gandalf, have _you_ ever conjured up an omen?"

"If you mean, have I ever allowed folk to believe that something was an omen if thinking thus would encourage them to fight on with hope renewed—why, yes, I have. You don't think it was all done by magic, do you!?"

Gandalf winked at the young Elf, who gaped in surprise. Smiling gently, Gandalf tapped at his lips, reminding his young friend to clap shut his own.

"Everyone calls _me_ a scamp," Legolas said when he had recovered his voice, "but, truly, Gandalf, I believe that _you_ are the greatest scamp in all of Middle-earth!"

"I will take that as a compliment—and so, of course, not true."

Legolas was distracted from his memory of these conversations with Gandalf by a slight motion. He glanced at a nearby tree and smiled when he saw a redpoll flicking its tail. "I do not know whether or not you are an omen," he addressed the bird, "but the sight of you will always cheer me regardless."

His weeding done for the day, Legolas stood up and went in search of Gimli. He found his friend in the tent that they shared. Gimli was reclining on his cot, smoking his pipe. He put it out when Legolas entered the tent, for they had reached a détente on the matter of his smoking. Gimli was free to smoke whenever he was outdoors, but in close quarters he would not smoke if Legolas were present.

As soon as the Dwarf had put out his pipe, he began to harangue Legolas on a most surprising subject. To the Elf's amusement, Gimli had become a little jealous at the strengthening bond between Edenlass and Edwen Nana. "I was doing right by Edenlass," the Dwarf grumbled. "She swoops in and takes over as if the lad were being neglected. Well, he was _my_ Elf before he was hers!"

"I thought _I_ was your Elf," teased Legolas.

"You _are_ my Elf, but I've done a superb job looking out for you, so I don't see why I can't have another. I reckon one Dwarf would be equal to the task of looking after a troop of Elves—we're that skilful!"

"There was a time," smiled Legolas, "when the company of one Elf was more than you could bear."

"Yes," Gimli replied loftily, "but you have improved since then—and your folk have made great strides as well—no doubt on account of your example. I reckon that now a host of Elves would not be sufficient to dismay _me_."

"I am glad to hear it, for after we visit Helm's Deep and Fangorn Forest, we should visit my father's realm. We should be very well accommodated at the Great Hall."

"That is not what _I_ have heard," harrumphed Gimli. "It is my understanding that the lower levels of the Great Hall are badly in need of refurbishing."

"And you are just the Dwarf to do it—you are that skilful!"

Gimli pretended to cuff Legolas's ear, but as always the Elf easily evaded him. Laughing, he escaped from their tent, with Gimli lumbering in pursuit. Once outside, however, their mock combat came to an end at once, for Faramir approached with a letter in hand.

"Legolas, Gimli," he called, "a messenger has brought a missive from Elessar."

Faramir handed the letter to Legolas, who broke the seal and read it, holding it low enough so that Gimli could peruse it as well.

"Aragorn wants us to return to Minas Tirith," the Dwarf said.

"Yes," said Legolas, folding the letter. "Faramir, Elessar has given Frodo and his companions leave to return to the Shire. Gimli and I shall return to the City so that we may accompany the Periannath for at least part of their journey."

"I shall be sorry to see you go," Faramir said regretfully. "I shall miss both your company and your contribution to the Cook's pantry."

"As to the latter," replied Legolas, "my kinsmen will stay on and continue to cultivate and harvest vegetables and fruits. Moreover, I assure you that I shall return and resume my task."

"I shall return as well," said Gimli, as if there were any question of his being parted from the Elf. "And when I come back," he continued, "I will be accompanied by some of the Dwarfs who are now helping in the rebuilding of Minas Tirith. Already Aragorn has said that some may be spared for the rebuilding of Osgiliath, and I have no doubt that by the time Legolas and I return, others may be detailed to Cair Andros."

Now that Gimli and Legolas were to depart Ithilien, Gimli's jealousy in the matter of Edenlass suddenly vanished. Instead, he was glad that Edwen Nana had taken the young Elf under her wing so that he would be cared for in their absence.

"You look after him," he commanded her later that day, as if it were his idea that she mother him.

"I will,' she promised. "But who," she added, "will look after _you_, Master Dwarf? Your beard is a disgrace, and you hair is little better." She picked up a brush and advanced on the Dwarf. "Hold your hand, woman!" roared the Nauga. "_No_body brushes a Dwarf!"

"Well, _I_ am not nobody," Edwen Nana replied tartly, continuing her advance upon the hapless Gimli, who was now edging away from the relentless elleth. "Legolas," Gimli called anxiously, "you are supposed to cover my back!"

"Cover your back, yes," Legolas replied. "But I never said anything about covering your beard!"

With that the Elf turned and strolled from the shelter. Behind him, the walls of the tent billowed, as if something were fetching up against them. "Now he'll know what it is like to have _his_ hair picked over," the Elf grinned.

The next day, with his hair neatly braided and his beard brushed, Gimli sat grumbling behind Legolas as their horse Arod carried them away from the encampment. "I hope you know," declared the Dwarf, "that I expect you to stop at the first burdock brush. I shan't feel right until I find some burrs to stick in my beard."

Gimli was of course being melodramatic, and he said not a word as Arod trotted past several patches of burdock, as well as the occasional teasel and patches of stickyweed or catchweed. However, it was quite windy, and as Gimli refused to put up his hood, he was soon disheveled enough to declare himself satisfied with his appearance. As for Legolas, his hood was down as well, but as Gimli often swore, magic seemed to protect his coif so that not a hair was blown out of place; and when the two arrived at Minas Tirith, Legolas was as well-groomed as Gimli was scruffy. Looking upon his two friends, Aragorn smiled, but his expression masked his wistfulness. As the two stood before him, Gimli clutching his great battle axe, Legolas smoothing the wood of his bow, Aragorn could almost—but not quite— imagine that everything was as formerly, that the Fellowship was not, at long last, about to be sundered forever.


	50. Chapter 50: An Unchosen Choice

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**I would like to thanks the following reviewers: **_**punkballet, Ilada'Jefiv, Foxgurl0000, Elfinabottle, **_**and **_**CAH**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit**_** and **_**The Lord of the Rings.**_

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly**

**Some of the Elves Legolas is remembering****:**

**Naurmaethor the Head Cook has played a role in the stories since **_**Dining Out**_**. I have just now given him a name. It means 'Fire Warrior', in honor of the campaigns he has fought over a hot stove.**

**Tathar ('Willow') and Gilglîr ('Star Song') are Mirkwood Elves who have been putting in appearances in my stories since the original **_**The**__** Nameless One**_** and the closely related tale, **_**The Clearing**_**. Tawarmaenas ('Woodcraft'), Legolas's cousin, played a role in **_**Dol Guldur**_**, **_**Returning from the Dead**_**, and **_**Things Fall Apart**_**. **

**Caranlass ('Red Leaf') marries Tathar in **_**Things Fall Apart**_**. **

**In the second chapter of **_**Sliding into Trouble**_**, Nenmaethor ('Water Warrior') is introduced, but under the name ****Tirndínen**** ('Silent Watcher').**

**Thoron ('Eagle') and his cousin Baramagor ('Eager Swordsman') fight alongside Anomen, Elladan, and Elrohir in **_**Dol Guldur**_**. Thoron appears in other stories from time to time.**

**Berenmaethor ('Bold Warrior') is a captain in the campaign for **_**Dol Guldur**_**. He also appears in other stories from time to time.**

**In Chapter 8 of**_** Returning from the Dead, **_**the**** following young Elves are present at a 'dance' that Anomen dreads attending.**

**Celaimîr—'Bright Jewel', daughter of the Heard Armorer and sister of Celaithand****  
Celaithand—'Bright Shield', son of the Heard Armorer and brother of Celaimîr  
****Lendsiniath—'Sweet Tidings', daughter of the Head Cook  
****Malthenêl—'Golden Star', niece of Glorfindel and twin of Malthenrî****  
Malthenrî—'Golden Wreath', niece of Glorfindel and twin of Malthenêl  
Meluifaer—'Lovely Spirit', relative of Haldir, visiting from Lothlórien  
Miluithand—'Kind Warrior', daughter of Berenmaethor**

**Chapter 50: An Unchosen Choice**

From the other side of the garden, Legolas studied the Hobbits. Pippin and Merry sat side by side on a bench, carefree, swinging their legs blithely and chattering merrily. Nearby sat Sam, drawing on a pipe but keeping an eye on Frodo, who sat apart from the others, silent, his eyes fixed upon the garden but not, Legolas suspected, truly seeing any of its flowers.

"Elessar has the hands of a healer," said a soft voice, "but he cannot cure the Hobbit's malady."

"You are correct, I fear," Legolas replied, turning to look at Arwen. "Frodo will return to the Shire, but he will never be happy there."

Arwen nodded. "Yes. And then after a little while—a few years at most—he will depart for the Grey Havens."

Legolas had understood this for several months, but something still troubled him. "Will Círdan the Shipwright give him passage?" he wondered aloud. "Frodo is neither an Elf nor a Maia."

"Círdan will welcome him because he knows that Frodo takes the place of another," Arwen said quietly. She looked at Legolas with a steady gaze.

Returning her gaze, Legolas was reminded of Galadriel, Arwen's grandmother. Each shared the same eyes even though they differed in color. Galadriel's blue eyes were lighter than Arwen's, but the eyes of both were wise ones, as if a person gazing into them might glimpse therein the beginning and ending of Arda itself.

'Many Elves have fallen', Legolas thought to himself. 'Of course Frodo would take the place of one. Indeed, he may very well take the place of Arwen herself, for when she embraced Estel, she renounced her own right to journey to the Uttermost West'.

Smiling pensively, Arwen bade Legolas good-day. Behind her, Legolas marveled that anyone would give up the opportunity to dwell in Valinor. '_I_ could not do it', he said to himself.

At that moment Gimli strolled into the garden. He nodded at Legolas but seated himself by the Hobbits, for he meant to smoke and did not wish to disturb the Elf. Legolas smiled fondly at the Dwarf's thoughtfulness, and he smiled even more as his friend attempted to blow a smoke ring. Gimli had been trying for weeks to emulate Gandalf's ingenious smoke creations.

'Gimli pretends to be all gruffness, but as long as one is not an Orc, in truth he is more droll than fierce', the Elf thought to himself.

"Hah!" Gimli cried just then. "Look, Pippin! You said I could not blow a proper smoke ring. What do you call _that_, young sir?"

"An oval," retorted Pippin. "'Tis an oval."

"Well, what is an oval but an elongated circle?" the Dwarf protested.

'Gimli is endlessly amusing', Legolas laughed to himself. 'I cannot imagine going about without him'. Suddenly Legolas recognized the import of what he had just said.

'I said that I would not give up an opportunity to dwell in Valinor', he mused to himself, 'but if I were summoned to the Grey Havens, and he still living, how then should I depart?'

Legolas sat considering the matter for a time. 'If I do not go to the Havens', he thought to himself, 'I should be parted from my father and my cousin, from Edwen Nana, from Elrond and the twins, from, and from Glorfindel and Erestor'.

The list was a lengthy one. It included his childhood friend Tathar; Gilglîr the Seneschal, the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel; Haldir and his brothers; his age-mates Thoron, Baramagor, and Celaithand; little Nenmaethor, whom he had taught to swim; the scout Lindir and the warrior Berenmaethor; the elf maidens Miluithand, Meluifaer, Celaimîr, Malthenêl, Malthenêl, and Lendsiniath. He would miss, too, Lendsiniath's father, Naurmaethor the Head Cook.

"And Mithrandir," Legolas murmured aloud. "If I remain in Arda, I shall be parted from Mithrandir."

Oddly, the very number of folk from whom he should be parted strengthened Legolas in his resolve to remain in Middle-earth with Gimli. 'They will all have each other', he thought to himself. 'Elladan will have Elrohir, and Elrohir Elladan. Tathar will have his wife Caranlass, and Haldir will have Rúmil and Orophin. Thranduil and Tawarmaenas will have each other, and Edwen Nana will have Edenlass. But whom will Gimli have?'

For Gandalf had told Legolas that the Fourth Age would be the Age of Men and that by the end of it not only the Elves but the Dwarves would have no place in Middle-earth. "And I am afraid, my lad," Gandalf had said somberly, "that the Dwarves will dwindle even more rapidly than the Elves. They will try to repopulate Moria, but the attempt will fail, for not even the death of the balrog will restore that place to wholesomeness. As for Erebor, it shall be destroyed in a great cataclysm."

"You know this?"

"Aye, I have seen it in Galadriel's mirror."

"But you have always told me that Galadriel's mirror was equivocal," objected Legolas.

"As to the actions of Men, Elves, and other creatures, yes, the mirror must be approached with caution. But it does not equivocate when it shows natural disasters, for such events may not be altered by our actions and are indifferent to our fate."

As he sat in the garden in Minas Tirith, Legolas mulled over the significance of Gandalf's words. He had always been taught that for the First-born alone were places set aside in Valinor. As to the Dwarves who were created after the Elves and even after the Men, Legolas had never heard that there was a place for them in Valinor or anywhere else. The Naugrim had been created by Aulë, and through the grace of Ilúvatar they had been vouchsafed souls, but they had not been part of the harmony of creation as originally envisioned by Eru. For this reason, Legolas believed that at death the Dwarves would dwindle to dust and return to the earth from which they had been raised. There would be no reunion for Gimli with kinsmen lost in Moria and Erebor. Legolas may have been wrong in this matter, but this is what he believed.

'He will have no one', Legolas thought to himself. 'He will have no one here in Middle-earth; he can look forward to having no one in any other place. I at least can remain with him until the end'.

The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that, even if he were to be told that it was his only chance to journey to Valinor, if he were summoned to the Grey Havens, he would refuse to depart without his friend.

'I am not bound to him as Arwen is bound to Aragorn', he considered, 'so I suppose I have not forfeited my immortality. Yet I cannot leave Middle-earth without Gimli'. He looked around the garden. 'Middle-earth is beautiful', he said to himself. 'I shall remain here with him, even if it means that I shall never see Valinor. And when he is gone, I shall still have Middle-earth and all the memories that it holds of my good friend Gimli son of Glóin'.

Legolas's thoughts were interrupted by footsteps only a little heavier than an Elf's. He turned to welcome Aragorn.

"Estel! Your crown does not weigh upon you too heavily."

"How do you mean?"

"You still move with the lightness of a Ranger, and withal a Ranger raised in the household of Elrond of Rivendell."

"I may be light-footed, yet I avow that I am not lighthearted." He nodded in the direction of Hobbits. "I shall miss them, Legolas."

"You may see them again before the end."

"I shall never see Frodo again," Aragorn said bluntly. "I may make shift to see the others, but after tomorrow the Ring-bearer I will never set eyes upon—not unless the world is changed. I wish I could accompany him back to Bree. To me, that is where our Fellowship began."

"I am sorry you cannot journey with us, Aragorn," Legolas said simply.

"We none of us can have everything we want, Legolas," Aragorn replied, "for one choice forecloses another. I cannot be both a footloose Ranger and King of Gondor and Arnor. Yet I have always understood the import of my choices—as has Arwen, whose choice makes my own losses seem petty. You should not be sorry for me—nor for Arwen, even— but for Frodo. He did not understand at the outset how great a sacrifice he would be called upon to make. He is more deserving of pity than either I or Arwen. Indeed, you yourself are deserving of pity. You have been forced to make a decision as painful as Arwen's when you did not know that you would be called on to make such a choice."

Legolas looked at him wryly. It seemed that the Ranger had divined Legolas's resolution to remain in Middle-earth with Gimli.

"The choosing was not painful, Aragorn, for I did not even know that I was making a choice. It crept up on me unawares, and before I had to give the matter any consideration, I was already resolved."

"The aftermath of the choice, then."

Legolas hesitated. "Do you suppose," he said slowly, "that Mithrandir at least may remain to me? He has told me that he will depart, but is there any hope that he may dwell on in Middle-earth even though the Elves depart it?"

"You know the answer to that question, Legolas. Gandalf was sent here with a task to perform. His task complete, he will be recalled to perform another."

"He wishes to remain in this place, Aragorn."

"As does Frodo. Neither will get his wish. You know this."

"Yes," said Legolas somberly. "I do not know why I ask the question."

"Perhaps because you know that one must hear the truth spoken in order to accede to it. It is possible to deny that which is left unsaid."

Legolas nodded. "True. Well, then I will say it. I will not answer the summons to the Grey Havens, no, not even if Círdan should tell me that the last of his boats is on the verge of setting sail. I will bid Gandalf farewell. I will bid my kinsmen farewell."

"I am sorry for your sake that you must choose between Gimli and those others whom you love," Aragorn said somberly. "I own, however, that I am glad you may be in Middle-earth at the time of my passing. Will you come see me, my friend?"

"I will be by your side, Estel."

"I pray that you will be a comfort to Arwen as well. Do not forsake her when she must face both my death and her own."

"I will not," Legolas said firmly.

"Hannon le," Aragorn said softly. He clapped his friend upon the shoulder and then arose. "I have several letters to peruse, mellon-nín," he said. Aragorn returned to his chamber, but he picked up and put down the letters several times. At last he put aside the task for later. Arwen was with Éowyn, and Aragorn, a Ranger still, decided he would risk a smoke. He put his feet up on the fender as if he were back in the Prancing Pony and thoughtfully puffed upon his pipe. The smoke took shape before him as if Gandalf were casting a spell upon the vapor. Aragorn saw Legolas fiercely rebuking Boromir at the Council of Elrond for questioning Aragorn's claim to the throne of Gondor. Then Legolas stepped forward to welcome Aragorn to the Hornburg with a quip that did not hide his relief at the survival of his friend. Next the Elf apologized to Aragorn for losing hope in the face of the seemingly overwhelming odds against them at Helm's Deep. Aragorn impatiently waved his hand. 'Nothing to apologize for', he murmured. The smoke swirled and reformed into a picture of Legolas placing a comforting hand upon Aragorn's shoulder when the Ranger thought that he had failed to summon the Army of the Dead. Then the Man saw Legolas's desperate attempts to reach Aragorn when the Ranger was attacked by a Troll in front of the Gates of Mordor. 'In loyalty and love he has never faltered', Estel thought to himself. 'To myself, to Gimli, to whomever he considers his friend—to those folk he is ever faithful'.

"Are you in there somewhere?" came a voice.

"Gandalf!" Aragorn called in answer. "I am glad to see you."

"Hear me, you mean, as you can't very well see me," he wizard replied lightly. He stepped into the room. "Arwen will not approve of this reek," he commented. Aragorn arose and went to the casement to throw open the window. Then he poured a glass of wine and handed it to Gandalf, who had ensconced himself in an armed chair. The wizard took a sip and then looked keenly at the Ranger.

"Feeling regretful already, my friend?"

"Not regretful, Gandalf. How could I feel regretful over the destruction of Sauron and the restoration of Gondor and Arnor? I will, however, own that I feel wistful. Tomorrow the Fellowship will be no more. You will depart these lands, as will Frodo. Pippin, Merry, and Sam will continue to dwell in Middle-earth, but they will be far away."

"Legolas and Gimli will spend much time in Ithilien and will visit you often. You do know that Legolas will remain with Gimli, don't you?"

"Yes, that has been plain for several months to everyone but Legolas, who only today discovered to his surprise that he had chosen to stay with his friend without ever having realized that he had done so."

"As Gimli would say, a highly ironistical development," smiled Gandalf. "Centuries from now, their friendship will be a byword amongst peoples. Whenever anyone wishes to describe a remarkable friendship, he will say, 'Those two put me in mind of Legolas the Elf and Gimli the Dwarf, two friends who would not be parted by the sundering seas."

A rustle was heard at the door, and both looked over to see Arwen standing there. "I hope you will put aside your pipes long enough to attend the farewell feast," she said, smiling.

"_I_ wasn't smoking," protested Gandalf.

"It must indeed be true that the Third Age has come to an end," smiled Arwen, "for a remarkable thing has happened—Mithrandir has passed up an opportunity to smoke!"

It suddenly occurred to Aragorn to wonder whether there were pipe weed in Valinor. 'I suppose not', he mused to himself. He tried to imagine a different Gandalf, one who did not lean back in his chair, his eyes twinkling, amusing his friends by puffing out hopping rabbits and galloping horses and swooping dragons.

"Wistful again?" came a voice at his ear as he and Gandalf and Arwen strolled toward the dining hall.

"Gandalf," Aragorn answered, "are you certain that you must depart these lands? Legolas wants you to stay. We _all_ want you to stay."

"I am a Maia, Aragorn, and may not always do as I wish. Surely you must understand that with great power comes great responsibility."

"It is odd that you have great power but do not have the power to do the one thing that we all want you to do."

"Yes, and as Gimli would say—"

"Highly paradoxistical," finished Aragorn wryly. By then they had arrived at the dining hall. Arwen had referred to a farewell feast, but in truth it was more like a family dinner. A public ceremony had been held earlier in the day, and now only Arwen, Éowyn and the members of the Fellowship were present. The food was both excellent and plentiful, but the company was spared elaborate speeches and lengthy toasts. They talked quietly amongst themselves, and when the music master arrived, Aragorn politely dismissed him so that they might continue to reminisce. At last, when the midnight hour was rung, they reluctantly disbanded.

"You folk depart at dawn," Aragorn observed to the other members of the Fellowship. "You had better get some rest, or you will be sleeping on your horses."

"I've slept in worse places," Pippin replied cheerfully.

"As have we all," said Gandalf, arising. "And I for one have learned to cherish a good night's sleep in a comfortable bed."

"As we Hobbits have learned to cherish good food," proclaimed Merry, snagging a roll in one hand and a piece of cheese in the other as he made for the door.

"I didn't think you needed any encouragement," Gimli called after him. The Dwarf drained his cup and arose. "Now for myself, I've learned to appreciate a good brew."

"I didn't think _you_ needed any encouragement," Legolas jested. "_I _shall not enjoy a good night's sleep in a comfortable bed," he said ruefully after Gimli had departed the room. "After all that beer, be sure that Gimli will snore _very_ loudly."

Legolas stood up. Aragorn arose as well. The two faced each other, and each clapped the other on the shoulder, as they had the day of Aragorn's coronation. "Hannon le," Aragorn said again. "Stay well, Estel," Legolas replied. "I shall return in time for the birth of your child."

Aragorn looked startled and then amused. "You get your gossip after the fashion of Elrond and Galadriel," he smiled, "for Arwen has only just now told me of our good fortune. Thus you must have divined this news in some elvish fashion."

"Arwen and Éowyn had their heads together the entire meal," Legolas replied, "and Arwen kept caressing her belly. It needed no elvish magic to surmise the topic of their conversation, no, no more than it took divination for you to recognize that I will not depart for the Havens."

Aragorn glanced at Arwen and Éowyn. The two women were smiling. "Legolas is right," Arwen laughed. "I seem to have given away the news at dinner without meaning to."

Aragorn looked back at Legolas. "Well, now I have two reasons to mark the days: I look forward both to the birth of my child and the return of the Elf."

With that, the last of the company arose and went to their rest. In spite of Legolas's prediction, Gimli's snoring did not keep the Elf up. He did awake once during the night, however. It seemed to him that in his sleep he had heard the cry of a seagull. 'Perhaps I heard a chough', he thought to himself as he lay in the dark. 'I have seen some perching on the city walls, which I suppose to those birds are as good as cliffs'. The Elf lay in the dark listening for awhile but heard nothing further. At last he drifted back to sleep. But as he did so, his ears were filled with a gentle susurration like the sound of distant surf.


	51. Chapter 51: Stalemate

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**I would like to thank the following reviewers of _Parallel Quest_: _punkballet, Ilada'Jefiv, cai-ann, Foxgurl0000, _and _CAH_. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of _The Hobbit_ and _The Lord of the Rings. _****The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as The Silmarillion.**

**Beta Reader: Usually Dragonfly. I haven't posted to this story in such a long time, however, that I opted to skip the beta reading and go straight to uploading. If anyone catches any errors, please let me know.**

**Chapter 51: Stalemate**

Sam stroked the muzzle of the pony he had been furnished from the stable of King Elessar. "He's a good enough beast," he said, "but he ain't no Bill. I wonder," he added thoughtfully, "whatever became of poor Bill."

"Gandalf placed spells of protection upon him," Pippin reminded Sam.

"That's right," Merry agreed. "And remember what Aragorn said—that Bill knew the way home. I reckon Bill is all right, Sam."

Sam looked doubtful, but he turned his attention to tightening the pony's girth. Looking on, Legolas smiled. Sam had been no horseman at the outset of the quest, but now the Hobbit adjusted the pony's harness with skill. 'Sam can handle a pony and a blade', Legolas thought to himself. 'Had the adventure lasted much longer, he might even have become a boat handler!'

"Durned horse," someone muttered behind Legolas. The Elf turned and smiled once more, this time at the sight of Gimli, who was eyeing Arod suspiciously. Unlike Sam, Gimli was no better around horses than he had been on that day in Rohan when Éomer had given the Three Hunters Arod and Hasufel.

"What is the matter, Gimli?" Legolas asked.

"Horse tried to step on my foot," the Dwarf complained. "Ow!"

Arod was nudging Gimli with his muzzle. Legolas laughed. "Gimli, he would be your friend if you would let him. See how Sam strokes his pony's muzzle. You do the same with Arod."

"I ain't rubbing no horse nose," Gimli grumbled. "Bad enough I have to sit on a horse's arse. I don't like neither end."

Merry and Pippin and even Sam stifled giggles as they led their ponies from the stable. Sam returned shortly to fetch Frodo's pony.

"Is Frodo still abed?" Legolas asked. He had seen no sign of the Hobbit this morning.

"He is up but lingers over the morning meal. Éomer is telling him tales of the lifting of the siege of Helm's Deep. Seems like it warn't only Frodo and I what were in a tight spot."

Legolas grinned at hearing the siege of Helm's Deep described as a 'tight spot'. But then were there words sufficient to describe the history of the War of the Ring—Wars of the Ring, really, for battles had been fought throughout Middle-earth?

Legolas led Arod from the stable, with Gimli trailing well behind. This behavior Legolas encouraged. The Rohirric steed was a good horse but not an elven one. He was likelier to startle and kick than a Rivendell horse, so it was good that Gimli stayed clear of Arod's rear hooves.

Once outside, Legolas saw Shadowfax waiting patiently for his friend Gandalf. For that was what Gandalf was to the steed. Other horses might have masters, but not Shadowfax. The stallion wore no harness, and it was by the horse's leave that the Istar rode him.

Frodo by his side, Gandalf now emerged from Meduseld. Behind the two strode Éomer. Gandalf stopped and gestured that Frodo should join the other Hobbits. Then he turned to exchange a few final words with Éomer.

"Shall I see you again?" asked the Man of Rohan.

Gandalf shook his head. "It is not likely that I shall pass this way again. I must turn my steps to the West."

"Then I must thank you now for your kindness to my uncle. His words to you were often harsh, but in the end he understood what you had done for him and for Rohan."

"He never spoke an unkind word to me, Éomer."

"You needn't be so polite, Gandalf. I heard his words with my own ears."

"Your own ears, eh? And nobody else's? In that you were fortunate. You were always in command of your own ears. Your uncle's mouth, however, was not always his own. So I say to you again, Éomer: your uncle Théoden never uttered an unkind word to me. Any harsh words that issued forth from his mouth were not his but Saruman's."

Éomer inclined his head in thanks for Gandalf's generosity. Then he raised his head and glanced at Legolas and Gimli. "Dwarf," he called, "you have risen considerably in my estimation."

"Well, that is no comfort," Gimli called back. "You once said that you would cut off my head if I stood any higher. I don't think I _want_ to rise in your estimation!"

Éomer laughed, and then he turned to Legolas. "You have become more discriminating in choosing your targets since that day you threatened me with your bow," he smiled. "And I am glad of it!"

Legolas bowed. "I as well, King Éomer of Rohan."

"Give my greetings to your father, the noble King Thranduil of Mirkwood."

"King Thranduil of Eryn Lasgalen," Legolas corrected. "For it is Mirkwood no more."

"Farewell, then, Prince Legolas of Eryn Lasgalen."

"A boon I would ask before I depart from you," Legolas said quickly. "Gimli and I are desirous of journeying to Helm's Deep so that we might explore the caverns beneath the Hornburg, and then we would journey across your lands to reach Fangorn Forest so that we might explore that place as well."

"You mean _you_ are desirous of journeying to Fangorn," Gimli grumbled.

"To both you and Gimli I grant the freedom of Rohan," Éomer replied, pretending not to hear the Dwarf. "Wander where you will within these lands. I shall send out messages so that all who encounter you shall offer you hospitality and such assistance as you may require."

Taking his leave of Éomer, Legolas led Arod to a mounting block. The Elf had no need of it, but it was a great comfort to Gimli, who disliked being boosted upon a horse. "'Tain't dignified," he would complain. Legolas could of course mount first and then reach down a hand, but Gimli disliked appearing even that helpless and only accepted such aid when it was unavoidable.

Once all the company had been horsed, they rode through Edoras, making for gates that stood open now that peace had returned to the land of Rohan. The folk who gathered to see them depart were far different from those who had watched warily as Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli had ridden in to confront Gríma Wormtongue. Standing upright and proud, Men nodded genially at the travelers; smiling women curtsied; and shouting children, with the fearlessness of the young, ran alongside the horses. "Pennies, Master Gandalf! Pennies, Master Elf! Pennies, Master Dwarf! Pennies, Master Holbytla!" shouted the children, and the travelers, well-supplied with treasure by King Elessar, bestowed small coins and even a few gold pieces upon the delighted urchins.

As they rode away from Edoras, Legolas looked back. The horse banners were flying before Meduseld, and Éomer stood at the spot where Éowyn had once awaited their coming in fear and despair. "That folk will endure, won't they, Gandalf," he said to the wizard, who rode alongside.

"They will not only endure; they will thrive," the Istar replied. "They have been a horse folk, but they will prosper so that they become a sea folk as well. Their tongue shall become the Common Speech spoken throughout Middle-earth wherever Men gather—the language of trade, the language of diplomacy, the language of healing and of all manner of craft."

"Shall they supplant the descendants of the Numenoreans?" Legolas asked, concerned. Had the struggle for the restoration of Gondor and Arnor been for naught?

Gandalf shook his head. "Nay, they shall not. The two folk will become one, the offspring and the heritage of the Numenoreans preserved amongst the Rohirrim."

"Some folk say such a mingling is a lessening," Legolas pointed out.

Again Gandalf shook his head. "I do not fear it!" he proclaimed. "Smiths of all nations know of the melding pot, the crucible wherein metals are combined to create alloys greater than either of the original ores. Moreover," Gandalf continued, "even if it were desirable to prevent such a mingling of the peoples, it would not be possible. We shall see much traffic between Edoras and Minas Tirith, and in a few generations who shall be able to say, 'I am a Gondorian' or 'I am a Man of Rohan'? Think you: will the child of Éowyn and Faramir be most properly described as a citizen of Gondor or of Rohan?"

"It is customary," Legolas replied, "to count the child as belonging to the nation of the father."

"Yet as far as bloodlines are concerned, such a custom is purely arbitrary. The mother contributes as much as the father. The child may claim either nation—nay, the child may claim both!"

"Then at the last shall there be only one nation in all of Middle-earth?" asked Legolas.

"I wish I could say that that would be the case, my son, for Men might fight the less if they thought themselves all part of one kindred. But as there are forces that bring Men together, so too shall there be forces that drive them apart. The Common Speech I have spoken of, it will be common and yet not so. Men may speak one tongue in the main yet be separated by small differences. Let us say that in one valley, people may pronounce 'potato' in one fashion; in the next valley they may pronounce it after another manner."

"That should hardly be enough to cause people to think of themselves as separate kindreds," Legolas argued.

"In former days, Men were killed over such slight differences," Gandalf replied. "Men tell a tale of two tribes who were near in blood but not near enough in each other's eyes. Folk of the first tribe could not make the sound 'sh'. Warriors of the second tribe held a ford that folk from the first tribe had to cross in order to reach their homeland. Whenever a Man approached the ford, the warriors would demand that he utter a word commencing with 'sh'. If he could not, they would slay him."

"To kill a Man over such a small matter!" exclaimed Legolas. "Why, Gandalf? Why slay a Man over such a tiny difference?"

"It seems that there are two impulses within Men: to join with other Men and to join against other Men. Indeed, the latter seems necessary for the former. For how better to feel as one with others if your tribe can look about and point to others who are _not_ of the tribe?"

"Parodoxistical," muttered Gimli, who had been listening even though he had appeared to be dozing. Hearing his friend speak, Legolas suddenly felt ashamed. Was he any different from the Men who had slain their fellows over the mispronunciation of a word? Had he not mocked Gimli and his kin, proclaiming Elves to be superior in language and in intellect, in culture and custom?

"It's all right, laddie," said Gimli, who noticed that the Elf's shoulders had slumped and guessed at the cause. "I gave as good as I got, I hope you remember."

"Thank you, Gimli," Legolas said gratefully, straightening his shoulders. "Perhaps," he suggested to Gandalf, "Men ought to try very hard to speak alike. That would certainly put an end to the animosity."

The wizard shook his head. "It is impossible for Men to speak alike in all respects. Amongst Men a poet once sang, 'In form of speech is change'. That is to say, that it is natural for a language to alter over time. Even if all Men should be taught to speak alike, no sooner had a language reached uniformity than it would begin to transform itself—and the changes would vary slightly from one settlement to the next so that soon humans in each valley would once again pronounce words in slightly different ways. Indeed, over the years folk in different valleys may adopt entirely different names to describe the same things. Tell me, Legolas: is the keeper of prisoners a warder, a gaoler, or a guard?"

"Why should anyone care which word is chosen?" Gimli interjected. "After all," the Dwarf continued, "what's in a name? That which we call a simbelmynëby any other name would smell as sweet."

"Gimli is right," Legolas said. "Surely Men must understand that these differences do not signify."

"Oh, but they _do_ signify, Legolas. I know a sad case of three tribes that have been fighting for centuries because each believes that the others worship a God different from theirs. One tribe calls upon Al-ilāh, the second prays to Ĕlāh, and the third worships Ĕlōah."

"But those are the same name, each tribe pronouncing it a trifle differently," protested Legolas.

"Not in the eyes of Men. Each tribe is persuaded that the word they pronounce in prayer is the name of a God and that the others babble the name of a Demon."

"Even if those names were different—and they are not!—don't the Men understand that a God may be addressed by more than one name, just as in your example of the keeper who may be called a warder, a gaoler, or a guard?"

"It is of course true," Gandalf agreed, "that a person may have more than one appellation. I have gone by many names, you have been known by at least as many as I have, and Aragorn goes by several."

"Yes," Legolas said eagerly, "and everyone knows that a Man is the same person no matter what he is called. Yet Men would deny to a God that which is granted to lesser beings, the right to be known by his many names. For, indeed, I should expect a God to have vastly more appellations than any mortal, for surely there must be much more to a God than a Man!"

"You don't have to convince _me_," Gandalf replied dryly, amused at how impassioned the Elf had become. "Unfortunately, however, you may find it difficult to convince the humans that insist on feuding. Whatever the _truth_ of the matter, what signifies is what Men _believe._"

"And what the Men of each tribe believe," Legolas said somberly, "is that the Men of the other tribes are mistaken in their practices."

"Worse than that, my lad. Each tribe believes that the other peoples are wicked—and it is easier to kill people if you think they are wicked."

"I begin to wonder," Gimli grumbled, "why we went to all that trouble to defeat Sauron. We might have left him alone and thus saved Men the trouble of destroying themselves. For surely Gandalf's words are as much to say that, given their druthers, Men would cut their neighbors down as willingly as they would scythe wheat."

"Tell me, Gimli," said Gandalf, "does Éomer still desire to behead you?"

"You know that he doesn't."

"And does Legolas wish to plant an arrow in Éomer's chest?"

"You know the answer to that, too. Legolas and Éomer are good friends."

"Good friends, yes. You and Legolas are good friends, as well."

"I don't know _why_," harrumphed Gimli, "for he's a pointy-eared princeling."

"Stiff-necked Dwarf," Legolas retorted automatically.

Gandalf laughed. "And that, Friend Dwarf, is why we battled Sauron—because friendships may on occasion be forged between even the unlikeliest of partners. Legolas asked me if one nation would ever cover the face of Arda. I merely said that this would never be the case, and I pointed out one obstacle—there are others!—that would prevent the entirety of Men from combining in such a fashion. That is a long way from saying that Men will destroy themselves!"

"Yet they _could_ destroy themselves," Gimli argued.

"Can and may," agreed Gandalf. "They have certainly gotten cleverer at killing one another over the years. But they have gotten cleverer in other ways as well—at trading, at negotiating. Many are the Men who realize that it is better to exchange goods than missiles. Moreover, there are those among them who understand what you do: that some seeming differences are not differences at all—or at least so slight as to be meaningless."

"And you think," Legolas said, "that Men such as those will suffice to keep the other Men in check?"

"I staked my life on it," Gandalf replied simply.

Legolas fell silent as he remembered the horrifying moment when Gandalf slipped from the Bridge of Khazad-dûm. The Elf was certain that the wizard had expected to die and that he had gone willingly toward that fate, exchanging his life for the lives of his companions. 'And he _did_ die', Legolas thought to himself. 'He returned to us, but that does not lessen his sacrifice, for he did not know that the Valar would send him back to finish his task. I saw it on his face: resignation mingled with a fierce desire that we should go on'.

Legolas pondered Gandalf's willingness to die so that his friends might live. 'No, not only so that his friends might live', the Elf mused. 'Gandalf wanted to save us, but not us alone. He wanted the Free Folk of Arda to continue free—safe from the machinations of both Sauron and Saruman. It would be a sad thing if Men by their own folly do not fully benefit from Gandalf's sacrifice—and the sacrifice of others as well!'

In his mind's eye, Legolas saw the fallen at Helm's Deep, on the field of the Pelennor, on the outskirts of Mirkwood and Lothlórien. As he rode on these images filled his head, and that evening, after the company had made camp, the Elf returned to the topic. He sought out Gandalf where he reclined against the bole of a tree, packing his pipe. The Elf sat cross-legged before the wizard.

"Gandalf, I hope you are correct that the best among Men will suffice to keep the less virtuous in check," the Sinda said.

"Of course I am correct," Gandalf said complacently. "A wizard is never mistaken."

"You _did_ misjudge Saruman," Legolas quickly pointed out, unwilling to let Gandalf's statement go unchallenged.

"I judged Saruman correctly at the outset," Gandalf growled testily. "Then he went and changed on me."

"Yes, and he changed for the worse," said Legolas. "But," he continued, "the most of folk change for the better, don't they?"

"The optimism of youth," Gandalf replied laughingly.

"I am no longer young even in the eyes of my own people," Legolas retorted, laughing as well. "I may lay claim to the wisdom of both the Eldar and the Elder."

"Too much punning. As Gimli would say, have you a point beyond the ones on your ears?"

"Gimli is the point."

"Don't be enigmatic, Legolas. That is my line of work, and I am superlative at it—I have no need of a second!"

"I will not argue with you on that score, Gandalf," smiled Legolas. "No one is your match for confusion, misdirection, and all round obfuscation."

"Not even Galadriel?"

"Not even Galadriel," Legolas assured the Istar.

"Excellent!" the wizard gloated. Legolas smiled again. Then the Elf returned to the matter he wished to discuss.

"I was just rehearsing in my mind the history of my friendship with Gimli. Gandalf, through both training and experience, I was predisposed to dislike Gimli."

"Dislike? Only _dislike_? I should have thought a stronger word was in order!"

"As for Gimli, he was predisposed to dislike me," continued Legolas, grinning at the wizard's good-humored teasing.

"You needn't finish your argument, Legolas. You are going to declare that if you and Gimli could become friends, then Men of all tribes may become friends as well, even those that have hitherto been the fiercest of enemies. Then you are going to argue on that account that someday one nation will indeed cover the face of Middle-earth. Now, tell me: have I guessed correctly?"

"Well, why shouldn't that be the case?" Legolas said stubbornly.

"You are touching in your naïveté, my young friend. Such a nation would be impractical. It would cover territories so far flung that it would be impossible to administer it."

"Ah, but the enterprise would fail only for that reason," Legolas said eagerly. "Otherwise all Men may be friends—is that not so?"

Gandalf looked at him keenly. "My son, why are you so anxious that this be the case?"

"So much has been sacrificed," Legolas began slowly. "So _many_ have been sacrificed," he went on. "Given the price that has been exacted, I think it would be a pity if Men did not rise far above what they once were."

"And so they shall," Gandalf replied kindly. "But do not expect Men to entirely surmount the imperfections inherent in their condition. The first murderer in Middle-earth slew his own brother, for at the outset all Men were perforce kin, their number being so small. Since then, every Man has possessed the capacity to commit an evil as great."

"But Men have an equal capacity for good! I have seen it, Gandalf. I have seen it in the Men of Rohan and in the Men of Gondor. And I do not see why they should not, like Gimli and myself, become the best of friends."

"Legolas, only a few Men will achieve what you and Gimli have accomplished, for, truly, the depth of your friendship is rare and remarkable."

"Why shouldn't friendship of that nature become the general rule?" challenged Legolas.

"I have no proof that it should not be so," Gandalf replied thoughtfully, "but I am afraid that most humans will never reach such a state of enlightenment."

"If you have no proof, then how do you know that you are right in this matter?" Legolas retorted.

"As I have said, I am a wizard, and a wizard is never wrong," the Istar repeated with a smile, trying to guide the conversation toward the levity with which it had begun. Legolas, however, would not to be distracted.

"Gandalf, that is an argument from authority, and I learned long ago from Erestor that such an argument is fallacious. Either refute my argument, or concede that you _are_ wrong."

Gandalf relit his pipe, which had gone out as they had debated. "I cannot refute your argument, my son," he acknowledged. "We both are judging the probability of a future event based upon our perceptions of past events. My nature is more cynical than yours, so I expect past fratricidal behavior to be repeated in the future. You, however, draw a lesson from your friendship with Gimli and see the happy outcome to be the likelier. This is an argument than can only be settled by the event itself. But I will say this, Legolas: if Men do behave more kindly toward one another, you and Gimli will be entitled to some of the credit. For surely the story of the Elf and the Dwarf who became as brothers will be told in centuries to come. Were he alive, Reuel the Minstrel would himself find the tale compelling and would put it into song not once but many times. Departed though he is, his descendants shall do what he cannot, and Men hearing the tale will be inspired to treat one another as kin."

After this speech, the two sat silently for a while, Gandalf puffing on his pipe and sending hummingbirds to buzz about Legolas's head. At length one perched upon the tip of the Elf's ear, coaxing a smile from the Sinda. "Thank you, Gandalf," he said softly.

"It is a simple matter to conjure up a hummingbird," replied the wizard, pretending that the Elf's words encompassed only that one act.

Legolas smiled again, and wizard and Elf again sat silent for a time. At length Gandalf puffed forth a dragon and then allowed his pipe to go out.

"We should rejoin the others," he said thoughtfully. "Tomorrow you and Gimli will turn aside for Helm's Deep. On this, our last night together, the Hobbits will clamor for you to tell at length certain stories that you briefly regaled them with that day in Moria when their spirits were so low."

This brought a grin to Legolas's face. "I hope you remember that those stories include the one about how a certain wizard got a wet beard whilst changing the nappies of an infant elfling."

This brought Gandalf out of his solemn mood. "And I hope _you_ remember," he shot back, "that that story does no more credit to you than it does to me!"

And thus bantering, the two friends arose and strolled back toward the campfire where their companions awaited them.


	52. Chapter 52: Visions of Things Unseen

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**I would like to thank the following reviewers of Chapter 51of **_**Parallel Quest**_**: **_**Elfinabottle **_**and **_**CAH**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit**_** and **_**The Lord of the Rings. **_**The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as **_**The Silmarillion**_**.**

**Beta Reader: Usually Dragonfly. However, I have posted very little to this story over the last several months, so I have opted to skip the beta reading and go straight to uploading until I feel as if I have 'caught up'. If anyone catches any errors, please let me know.**

**Chapter 52: Visions of Things Unseen**

Gimli waited patiently as Legolas stared into the distance. The Dwarf could no longer see Gandalf and the Hobbits, but he knew that the Elf could, and he understood that his friend was reluctant to turn away as long the other members of the Fellowship were still in sight. At last, however, Legolas sighed and looked down at the Dwarf. "They have passed beyond my vision," he said wistfully.

"You will see them again," Gimli reassured his friend.

"Yes," replied the Elf, his voice melancholy, "but in the case of at least one, it may be only to say goodbye again."

Gimli looked searchingly at his friend. "Legolas, they are not true, are they? The stories that I have heard, I mean?"

This speech brought a smile to the face of the Elf in spite of his melancholy. "I can hardly answer that question," he observed dryly, "without some notion of _which_ are the tales that you speak of. For I am sure that you have heard many stories over the course of your life."

"The stories about, um, about—well, about Elves fading from grief!"

Gimli tugged at his beard as he gazed at Legolas anxiously. As a young Dwarf, he had found such stories amusing. "Huh!" he would scoff, "those pointy-ears are as delicate as snowdrops and as quick to fade. Not like Dwarves! _We_ are as tough as the hide of an oliphaunt!" Now, as Gimli worriedly studied the face of his friend, he wished that every mocking word he had uttered could be transformed into an added year of life for Legolas.

What would 'fading' look like, the Nauga wondered. Would Legolas become more and more transparent, until he vanished altogether? Or would he diminish in size, shriveling bit by bit until, as insubstantial as an autumn leaf, he was wafted away by a breeze.

"I am not going to fade," Legolas said firmly, breaking into Gimli's fearful ruminations. "I know what you are thinking: that I will succumb to grief over the loss of Gandalf. I won't! I did not fade after he fell into the abyss of Khazad-dûm."

"It was a very near thing," Gimli reminded him. "Don't you remember how distraught you were after we thought Gandalf had perished?"

"Yes, but I had a very good friend to recall me to the world of the living—and I have him still! More than that: at least this time I shall know that Gandalf survives. He won't fall into an abyss; he will sail to Valinor."

"But he won't be _with_ you."

"Months—even years—would go by when he wasn't _with_ me, Gimli—except insofar as I knew that he and I shared Middle-earth. And even after he has departed this land, we will still share—something."

Gimli continued to look at Legolas doubtfully. Legolas laughed and held out his hand. "Here!" he said. Gimli proffered his own hand, and Legolas gripped it tightly. "Is this the grasp of someone who is fading?" he asked the Dwarf.

Legolas hand was warm and solid, and after a minute the Nauga smiled. "No," he said cheerfully. "I reckon it is not. Very well. I shall put the matter from my mind." Abruptly he changed tack. "Legolas, have I ever told you the story of the very strange cat that would wink in and out of sight?"

With Gimli by his side, Legolas led Arod to a stump so the Dwarf might mount.

"This cat," the Nauga explained as he clambered atop the horse, "would perch upon a branch, looking like an ordinary cat, until he would begin to fade from the tail onward. Soon all that would be left was his grin. Very odd it would be, to see a grin floating above a branch. Then the grin might vanish altogether. One would never know when the grin would reappear—or the rest of the body, for that matter!"

Legolas wondered at Gimli's choice of tale, and he suspected that the Dwarf, in spite of his assurances otherwise, still harbored fears that the Elf would 'wink out'. However, he thought it would be wise to wait for another time to refer to the matter again.

"That was a singular cat, Gimli. Did you see it with your own eyes?"

"Never did. I always arrived on the scene just after it vanished. Which of course proves just how invisible that cat could be!"

Legolas thought that there might be another explanation for the nonappearance of the cat, but he forbore uttering his suspicions out of respect for his friend's kindred.

"It is good," he said, "that as a general rule creatures remain visible. It would be awkward if our foes should simply materialize before us without warning."

Gimli snorted. "Awkward! Now, _there_ is one of your elvish understatements! Although," the Dwarf added, "myself, I should like it if I could vanish from one spot and reappear at another. 'Twould save a world of trouble if we could travel in that fashion."

Legolas laughed merrily. "Such a mode of locomotion would be beyond the power of even the most powerful of wizards."

"Even Gandalf?"

"Even Gandalf."

"Are you sure you do not do Gandalf an injustice?" Gimli asked. "We don't know the half of his magic. I reckon if he put his mind to it he could pull it off. Indeed, I shouldn't wonder if he hasn't already done it. Wasn't he always showing up unlooked for? How did he manage that, I'd like to know—always showing up at just the right moment? _I_ think he was apparating."

"That is not even a proper word," Legolas objected.

"Now I've said it, it is," Gimli said stubbornly. "Anyway, you're changing the subject. Prove that he didn't disapparate from one spot and apparate at another."

"Gimli, I cannot prove that Gandalf did not apparate—"

"Hah!" crowed Gimli.

"But I don't have to prove that he _didn't_ apparate; _you_ have to prove that he _did_."

"I don't see why. _You_ are the one who claims that Gandalf didn't apparate."

"But you are the one who claims that he did. Gimli, it is sometimes true that a body can't prove a negative."

"So you concede," Gimli said triumphantly.

"No no no! The person who makes the claim must prove it."

"You made a claim, too," insisted Gimli. "You put a 'not' in your claim, but it's still a claim."

"But the 'not' makes it incapable of proof!"

"My point exactly," Gimli said triumphantly.

"Oh, very well," Legolas grumbled. "I cannot prove that Gandalf did _not_ apparate. But you haven't proved _your_ claim, neither."

"Hardly seems necessary," Gimli proclaimed loftily. "After all, you have admitted that you cannot refute my case."

"Gimli, you haven't presented a case! You have merely made a claim."

"Which you have failed to disprove."

Legolas huffed. "Fine! Gandalf _may_ be able to apparate. But I shall not believe that he _can_ until I see the evidence with my own eyes."

"No good, Legolas. After all, one may not see that cat I was talking about before—which is powerful evidence for the existence of cats what can make themselves invisible. A body what insisted on the evidence of his own eyes would have missed that fact entirely!"

Legolas felt that he had fallen into a rabbit hole that had opened into a very strange world indeed. Fortunately, at that moment Gimli became distracted and dropped the subject. "Look!" he cried, pointing to a shady patch. "Are those not most excellent mushrooms? Let us stop and gather some." Legolas eagerly agreed. The two dismounted and knelt on the ground to examine the toadstools. "These are hedgehog mushrooms," Legolas observed. "See how on the underside they have teeth-shaped structures rather than gill-shaped ones?"

Legolas went back to Arod and drew a cloth from one of the saddlebags. This they lay on the ground and began to cover with toadstools. They meant to eat a few right away and then dry some for later. "Not that one!" exclaimed Legolas suddenly. "That is no hedgehog! If you eat it, you will not die, but you will see strange sights. Elladan and Elrohir like to nibble upon its cap upon occasion, but I always found the results disconcerting. So I beg of you, Gimli, that you check the underside of each mushroom to make certain that it is indeed a hedgehog."

"I will," Gimli promised briskly, reaching for another toadstool. He gave it a cursory glance and tossed it onto the cloth. Suspiciously, Legolas picked it up and examined it. Relieved, he saw that it was indeed a hedgehog. After examining several of Gimli's toadstools in this fashion, Legolas was sufficiently reassured to return to gathering his own mushrooms.

Soon they had an ample supply of the fungus. "Let us cut some up and cook them in a stew," Gimli suggested. Legolas agreed and began to gather wood for a fire. Gimli, meanwhile, took their small cook pot down to a stream. He washed some of the mushrooms and then filled the kettle. Returning to their makeshift camp, he cut the mushrooms into pieces and tossed them into the pot. Legolas returned then and built up the fire as Gimli added herbs, roots, and several chunks of venison to the nascent stew. As Legolas went to move Arod to better pasture, Gimli placed the pot over the fire and stirred a bit of flour into the stew to thicken it.

When Legolas returned from seeing to their steed, he flung himself down upon a patch of moss and inhaled deeply. "It is already smells good, Gimli," the Elf said appreciatively. Gimli beamed and carefully added a pinch of salt to the stew. Then he plunked himself down on the moss beside Legolas, and the two rested in companionable silence as the stew simmered. From time to time Gimli would bestir himself to check on its progress, and at last he declared himself satisfied. From their saddlebags Legolas drew out two bowls, and Gimli ladled out a generous portion of stew into each.

For several minutes they ate steadily as they satisfied the pangs of hunger that they had felt whilst the stew had been simmering. After awhile, though, they spooned up the stew more slowly and began to talk idly.

"Rohan has much to recommend it," opined Gimli. "I did not notice that when first we entered this land."

"It was hard to notice when one could not see past the point of a spear," Legolas replied lightly.

"True! And we were in a veritable thicket of them!"

The two grinned at each other, remembering their reception at the hands of Éomer and his éorad of mounted warriors. Suddenly the grin vanished from Legolas's face, and he stared intently up into the tree that shaded them. Gimli looked up as well, wondering what his friend might have seen. "What is it, Legolas?" the Dwarf whispered.

"I don't know," the Elf answered softly. "I thought I saw something just now."

The Sinda stared fixedly into the tree for several minutes. Then he shrugged. "I must have caught the motion of a bird out of the corner of my eye," he said. He picked up his spoon and took another mouthful of stew. Then he threw his bowl and spoon aside and leaped to his feet. "There!" he shouted, pointing at a branch.

Gimli leaped to his feet as well and stared intently at the spot Legolas was pointing toward. "What is it, Legolas?" he cried, pulling his small throwing axe from his belt.

"A cat," declared the Elf. "Part of a cat, anyway. It has the most ferocious grin!"

Gimli thrust his axe back into his belt and scowled at his friend. "You mock me, Legolas," he said accusingly.

"I do not mock you," Legolas replied, bewildered. "Oh, look! Now the cat's entire head is visible. And its forepaws. I can see its forepaws!"

Gimli opened his mouth to upbraid the Elf, but a thought suddenly occurred to him. He went over to the cloth where the uncooked mushrooms lay drying and carefully turned over each one. Suddenly he groaned. "Oh, I am more of a fool than any Took was," he muttered. "I should have heeded Legolas more carefully." He picked out two mushrooms. These he carried to Legolas.

"I _am_ sorry, my friend," the Dwarf said apologetically. "Here are two of the wrong sort of toadstool. I must have chopped up such a mushroom and thrown it into the stew, and you have had the bad luck to swallow a portion. Legolas, there is no cat in that tree."

Legolas stared at the mushrooms and then looked back at the tree.

"I can see that they are the wrong sort of mushroom," he said in a wondering voice, "but I can also see that there is a cat in that tree. Its rump and back paws are now visible. It wants nothing but a tail—oh, here comes the tail!"

"Yes, it will be a tale alright," sighed the Dwarf. He threw the two mushrooms into a bush and dumped the rest of the stew after them. Then he set about trying to convince Legolas to drink from the small vial of miruvor that they carried with them. Legolas, however, had become transfixed by the apparition of the cat.

"Legolas!" cried Gimli. "Legolas!"

The Dwarf tried snapping his fingers in front of the Elf's face, but the Sinda merely craned his neck to peer around the impediment. At last Gimli realized that he would have to wait for the effects of the mushroom to wear off. 'I shall simply watch him carefully to make certain that he does not get into any mischief', the Dwarf said to himself. Legolas was sitting cross-legged, staring up at the tree and heedless of the approach of dusk. Gimli draped a blanket over his friend to keep the dew from settling upon him. Then he replenished the fire and, wrapping himself in his own cloak, settled himself next to the Elf. There the Dwarf sat vigil, patiently listening as Legolas prattled on the subject of cats.

"The Cook kept a cat," he babbled. "Hundreds of them actually. Not at the same time, of course. But over the centuries. One at a time. Mousers they were. One in particular was very fierce. He chased elflings as well as mice!"

"Yes, yes," soothed Gimli. "Lembas bread?"

Legolas snatched the proffered biscuit and began to cram it into his mouth.

"Whoah!" exclaimed Gimli. "One small bite is enough to fill the stomach of a grown man!" He tried to grab hold of Legolas's wrist. Legolas fended him off. "Mine!" he cried. "My precious!"

Gimli groaned. 'I will surely be more careful about mushrooms in the future', he said to himself.

And so the night wore on, with Legolas babbling and Gimli hovering over him and herding him back toward their campfire whenever he leaped to his feet and made as if to wander off. At length, as the darkness in the eastern sky softened to a grey, Legolas calmed a little. He reclined upon his side, resting his head upon a palm and staring at the limb where, according to the Elf, the hallucinogenic cat had been perched all the night. "Oh, look!" he suddenly exclaimed. "The tip of the cat's tail has vanished."

Now the Sinda sat up and watched raptly as the cat slowly faded in a process opposite to the one by which it had appeared. Little by little he saw the entire tail disappear. Next the hindquarters vanished, and where they had sat leaves waved in the freshening morning breeze. Then the Elf saw the cat's abdomen and forequarters fade away bit by bit, leaving behind a head that seemed to float above the branch. Finally the head itself began to disappear, the pointed ears first and then the cat's luminescent eyes. Last of all, one ferocious fang at a time, the feline's grin faded.

Suddenly Legolas blinked and looked around. "Is it morning already?" he said, his voice and manner once again his own. "How swiftly the night has passed, Gimli! It seems to me that only a moment ago we were chatting over supper. By the by, Gimli, does any of that stew remain? I should like to break fast, and a bowl of it would be just the thing."

"No stew!" Gimli said hastily. "Why don't you have a bit of lembas bread?"

Legolas made a face. "I don't know why, Gimli, but I do not think I could eat lembas bread this morning."

"Right. No lembas bread."

Gimli went to their saddlebags and drew out a small pouch that contained raisins. Legolas ate a handful of these while Gimli took the kettle to the stream and scoured it. When he returned to their camp, he boiled some barley flavored with a few small strips of venison and a pinch of salt. Legolas said the pottage was delicious, and Gimli allowed himself to grin. He had felt dreadfully guilty about feeding Legolas the bad mushrooms and was mightily relieved to see that his friend appeared to have suffered no permanent harm.

It must be said that Gimli's spirits recovered apace. 'Should I tell Legolas what happened?' the Dwarf asked himself. No, he decided. The Elf likely wouldn't believe him. 'Moreover', the Nauga thought magnanimously, 'I have already discomfited him on the subject of apparating. I shouldn't want to make him feel foolish for claiming to see a cat that wasn't there'. Somehow Gimli contrived to overlook the fact that he himself would be subject to embarrassment if the story were to be told.

Breakfast over, Legolas and Gimli broke camp. The Dwarf insisted on being the one to pack up the remaining mushrooms. While Legolas's back was turned, the Nauga carefully checked the toadstools to make certain that there were no additional bad ones amongst them. He found none, so he congratulated himself upon the fact that, in the main, he had followed Legolas's counsel on the subject of mushrooms.

The morning was not too far advanced when, with Legolas alert and lively and the picked-over mushrooms stowed in a saddlebag, the two friends were able to resume their journey in the direction of Helm's Deep, where, Gimli again assured Legolas, a most marvelous sight awaited them in the caverns beneath the Hornburg. But as the two friends rode away from their campsite, behind them, unseen, padding on silent paws, followed a sharp-fanged creature that was no figment of a fungus-addled brain. It remained to be seen how far the Elf and the Dwarf would journey that day before, like Legolas's grinning cat, this creature would 'apparate'.


	53. Chapter 53: Fangs Unsheathed

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**I would like to thank the following reviewers: **_**punkballet, Here to Annoy, FoxGurl0000, vectis, ziggy3, Angsty Anime Star, Dragonsofliberty, Pghj2005, **_**and **_**CAH**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you ****unless you have disabled the private messaging feature. (****Please notice that the fanfiction site has changed its system so that responses to reviews go out via the private messaging feature. That is why the people who have disabled that feature have not heard back from me****.)****.**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit**_** and **_**The Lord of the Rings. **_**The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as **_**The Silmarillion**_**.**

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly.**

**Chapter 53: Fangs Unsheathed**

After leaving their camp, Gimli and Legolas had only traveled a few hundred feet when Legolas began to glance over his shoulder.

"Why are you so restless?" Gimli asked after the Elf had looked back for the sixth time.

Legolas answered in a low voice. "We are being followed—no, do not look back!"

"Why may you look back but I may not?" said Gimli, a trifle nettled.

"You are sitting behind me. If I turn to look over my shoulder, it may be that I merely wish to speak with you. If you turn to look over your shoulder, however, it is plain that you are trying to spy something behind you."

Gimli had to concede that what Legolas said was true, and he obligingly made small talk so that it would look all the more natural when Legolas glanced over his shoulder.

"Can you make it out?" the Dwarf said softly after awhile.

"Not yet," Legolas answered quietly. "Although I am sure it is not an Orc. No Orc could move that quietly."

They rode on a little longer. Legolas still continued to glance back over his shoulder from time to time. Suddenly he chuckled. "Ah, I see it now," he said, his voice amused. "It is a cat."

"Cat," exclaimed Gimli, alarmed. "No no! It cannot be a cat!"

"I admit that it is unusual to see a cat in the middle of the wild," Legolas said, surprised at Gimli's vehemence.

Gimli began to wail. "Oh, Legolas, I am so, so very sorry. I have done you an injury. You seemed better, but now it appears that you were hurt worse than I thought!"

"Hurt? How hurt? Ow! I am hurt now! Stop clinging so tightly to my middle!"

Gimli continued to wail. Meanwhile, Legolas tried to pry his hands loose.

"Gimli! Whatever are you babbling about? Close your mouth and open your fingers!"

At last Gimli calmed a little. The two dismounted, and Legolas begged Gimli to explain—clearly and calmly—what the matter was.

"I did not pick through the mushrooms carefully enough," Gimli confessed. "You ate a bad one and began to hallucinate. Chiefly, you claimed to see a cat. By morning you seemed to have recovered, but now it is plain that you have not. Oh, Legolas, I shall never forgive myself if you do not recover entirely!"

"I _am_ recovered entirely, Gimli."

"But you are still seeing cats!"

"One cat, Gimli, and a real one."

Gimli shook his head mournfully. "You only _think_ it is a real cat, Legolas. Oh, my poor, poor friend—how I have wronged you!"

"I shall prove that I have seen a cat, Gimli. Sit you down whilst I prepare the noon meal."

Gimli did as he was bade, sitting cross-legged and anxiously watching Legolas as his friend prepared a stew. When the Elf was finished, he ladled portions into two bowls. Then he found a strip of bark and placed a few morsels of meat upon it. He went back in the direction they had come and set the improvised dish down near to the shelter of some briars but still within view. Then he returned to Gimli, and the two quietly ate their stew, their eyes fixed upon the bark with its offering of meat. After a little while, even Gimli could tell that something was moving within the shelter of the briars. Then a tiny creature crept cautiously out and nosed the meat. After a minute it began to nibble upon it.

"Maybe I ate some bad mushrooms, too," marveled Gimli. "What is that little tabby doing in the middle of this woody desert?"

Legolas had finished his stew, and now he poured a little water into his bowl. Arising carefully, he slowly edged his way toward the cat, pausing each time the cat looked as if it were about to bolt. Gradually, the Elf drew within a few feet of the cat. He set down the bowl and then sat back on his heels. Patiently, he waited until the cat crept nearer and began to lap up the water. He began to speak softly to the cat, and when it had satisfied its thirst, he slowly reached out his hand and gently stroked it. At last the tiny cat allowed him to pick it up, and he carried it back to the cook fire.

"Why, it's naught but a kitten," exclaimed Gimli.

"It's a 'he', Gimli."

"Right. He's naught but a kitten. He was hungry just now, but he's not emaciated. I'd say that he has been well cared for were it not for the state of his fur. Look how matted it is!"

"That's blood, Gimli."

"Blood! Is the poor little creature injured, then?"

Legolas hid his smile at the sight of the gruff dwarf hovering solicitously over the wee kitten. The Elf pulled out a roll of bandages from his pack. Dipping a length of the cloth in water, he began to carefully clean the tiny cat.

"I see no sign of injuries," he said when he was finished. "The blood on this kitten comes from some other creature."

Gimli picked up the kitten and cradled it. "Looks too little to have brought down anything larger than a moth," he said doubtfully. "I don't think that much blood could have come from anything that this tabby has slain."

The kitten began to mewl and struggle to climb down.

"Let us see what he does now that he has been tended to," Legolas suggested. He fetched his bow and quiver from where he had set them near the cook fire and then nodded at Gimli. The Dwarf set the kitten upon the ground. He stalked off and then looked back at the companions and mewled.

"He wants us to follow him," Gimli pronounced.

The tiny cat went deeper into the woods, and Legolas and Gimli followed, with Arod bringing up the rear. After awhile they came upon a track.

"Trading route," said Legolas. "Wide enough for carts."

The kitten marched along in a rut left by a wagon wheel, and Legolas and Gimli continued to trail him. After a while, Gimli grimaced. "Smell that?"

"Aye, Gimli," Legolas said softly. He checked the tautness of his bow string, and Gimli unwrapped his large battle axe and hefted it. "I reckon the skirmish is long over," the Dwarf said grimly, "but you never know what may linger in the vicinity of one."

A few hundred more feet and around a bend in the road they came upon the source of the dreadful smell. People lay in various contorted poses on either side of the track. Flies swarmed over them, and the vultures tore at them. "Begone," bellowed Gimli, rushing forward and waving his axe. "Begone! Find an Orc to sink your ugly faces into!"

The vultures flapped their wings and arose into the air, but they settled into the trees nearby, and Legolas knew that they would wait patiently for an opportunity to resume their feast. Trying not to inhale too deeply, the Elf went from body to body. Only one was a man full grown. There was a boy about ten years of age, two little girls, and a woman. The kitten scampered to the smaller of the little girls. The child's garments were stiff with dried blood. Tentatively, the kitten held out a paw and touched the child. When there was no response, he mewled. Again he pawed at the little girl. At last the kitten, still mewling, tucked himself against the child's body.

"I reckon we know how that little creature came to be so bloodied," Gimli said sadly.

Legolas looked carefully at the ground. A wagon had passed this way recently. Probably it had been the family's. He supposed that they had been slain by brigands and their goods stolen. Well, they would not go unavenged. First he and Gimli would see to the bodies; then they would track the murderers.

"Gimli, we must not leave these folk exposed alongside the road. We must carry their bodies into the woods and cover them as best we can."

Legolas and Gimli each picked up one of the little girls and bore her into the woods. They carried the children as gently as if they were merely sleeping and laid them with equal gentleness upon a patch of moss. The kitten had followed them and again settled himself against the body of his slain mistress.

Returning to the road, together Legolas and Gimli lifted the Man. Treating him as respectfully as the children, they conveyed him into the woods as well.

Returning to the road once more, Legolas instructed Gimli to fetch their bedrolls while he picked up the boy. He carried the lad into the woods, with Gimli a few paces behind carrying the blankets. The Elf laid the boy beside his sisters, and with one blanket, they covered the three children. The other blanket would be shared by the man and his wife, couched together in death as they had been in life. They went back to the road to retrieve the woman's body.

On the return, Gimli was a few paces ahead of Legolas. The woman lay huddled upon her stomach, with her knees drawn up. She had been stabbed in the back and her head slashed. Carefully Gimli rolled her onto her back. He let out a wail of distress. "Too cruel," he cried. "Too cruel!"

Legolas hurried to his side. Beneath the slain woman had lain a small bundle. Its contents were plain, for a tiny little foot protruded from a fold in the blood-streaked cloth.

Legolas laid a hand upon Gimli in an attempt to comfort him, but Gimli suddenly shook it off. "Hope," he cried. "There is always hope!" He knelt beside the bundle and began to unwrap it.

Legolas was bewildered at the Dwarf's abrupt change of mood, but suddenly he saw what the Nauga had seen. The tiny foot twitched.

"My friend," he exclaimed, "you _do_ have the eyes of an eagle!"

"I've been telling you that for ages," grumbled the Dwarf, "but never mind that." He had unwrapped the infant, which proved to be a little girl, and he cradled her in his arms as tenderly as he had cradled the kitten. "There is life here, but not much. And I don't know nothing about nursing no babies. Do you?"

Legolas gently stroked the infant's cheek with his finger, and the baby turned in that direction and made feeble sucking motions.

"We need to get some liquid into the wee creature," Gimli observed.

"Let us dip cloth into water and let her suck upon that," Legolas suggested. "You see to that whilst I finish tending to the bodies."

While Legolas carried the infant's mother into the woods, Gimli soaked a cloth in water. Then, sitting cross-legged, he laid the baby in his lap and carefully allowed her to suck upon the cloth, dipping it anew every few minutes. Legolas smiled fondly when he returned to the roadway and saw the Dwarf tenderly nursing the baby. In his own hands he carried the kitten wrapped in his tunic. The little creature had not wanted to leave his mistress, and so Legolas had been forced to bundle him up to bring him away.

"I think," Legolas said to Gimli, "that this kitten went to fetch help for his little girl. I wish I could make him understand that there was nothing to be done for her other than to see her body respectfully bestowed."

Legolas put the kitten into a saddlebag that he emptied out for that purpose. "He shall have air and space enough," he said to Gimli, "and after enough days have passed, perhaps he will attach himself to another human."

Gimli looked longingly at the saddlebag. 'Or perchance the kitten will attach himself to a Dwarf', Legolas thought to himself, again smiling in spite of the grim surroundings. Then he began to consider what they ought to do next.

"I had thought that we should follow the brigands," he said to Gimli, "but this infant needs more care than we can afford it. The water has slaked her thirst, but she needs milk. We must make for Helm's Deep as quick as we may. I only hope," he added, "that we can keep the child alive until we reach that place."

"We might make a broth," Gimli suggested, "and soak the cloth in that. That would be a little better than water alone."

"True. Let us brew up some right now, before we set out, and fill one of the water skins with it."

Quickly Legolas built a fire and hung the pot over it. Into the pot he poured water and then tossed several strips of dried venison. For good measure, he added pine needles, for everyone knew that there was some substance in pine needles that, when brewed into a tea, strengthened the body. He also added one drop of miruvor. (He was afraid to add more of the potion, for he was unsure what amount would be fitting for an infant.)

At last the Elf judged that the venison and pine needles had steeped long enough. Gimli soaked the cloth in the liquor, and when he offered it to the infant, it seemed to suit her, for she sucked vigorously. The rest of the broth Legolas carefully poured into a water skin.

Their preparations complete, Legolas boosted Gimli atop their horse. Then he handed up the infant, who was now wrapped in Legolas's spare tunic. The Elf had resumed his original tunic, which, in spite of some rents from the claws of the kitten, was still serviceable.

"I know I twit you about carrying extra garments," Gimli observed, "but I must allow that that peculiar habit of yours has come in handy today. Our blankets we have bestowed upon the dead. They were o'erlarge for swaddling, but we could have cut them into a manageable size. We could have also cut up our cloaks. They were a gift from the Lady, but if need required it, I would have sacrificed mine. Still, I am glad your tunic will serve. It is one of the many sewn for you by Edwen Nana, isn't it?"

"It is," Legolas agreed, swinging himself atop the horse.

"She will be pleased to hear that it served in such a case as this."

"Yes, she will be very pleased indeed to learn that something that came from her hand was used to succor a creature so helpless."

Legolas urged their horse into motion. Trying to move at a swift pace but without jostling the infant, they set out anew for Helm's Deep.


	54. Chapter 54: Noro Lim

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**I would like to thank the following reviewers: **_**punkballet, Melanda, **_**and **_**CAH**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you unless you have disabled the private messaging feature. (Please notice that the fanfiction site has changed its system so that responses to reviews go out via the private messaging feature. That is why the people who have disabled that feature have not heard back from me.)**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit**_** and **_**The Lord of the Rings. **_**The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as **_**The Silmarillion**_**.**

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly. She is on vacation at the moment, however, so if anyone notes any errors, that is because I am working without a net.**

**Chapter 54: Noro Lim**

Gimli nodded drowsily, but his grip was as strong as ever. With one arm he clutched Legolas; with the other he clung to the infant. When they departed the spot where the humans had been slain, it had been late afternoon. Now they rode under a setting moon, having stopped only once during all those hours. After battling his bladder for several hours, Gimli had at last been forced to admit that he needed to make water, and they had dismounted.

To Legolas's amusement, the Dwarf had pushed his way several hundred feet into the woods to tend to his body's needs. "You have never been shy," Legolas called after him. "Why are you going so far?"

"In case you haven't noticed," Gimli shouted back, "that baby is a female. I was brought up better than to relieve myself in front of a female!"

'Suddenly so fastidious!' Legolas laughed to himself, and when Gimli returned, the Elf scandalized the Dwarf by merely stepping behind the nearest tree. "Hey!" protested the Dwarf, clapping his battle-scarred paws over the baby's ears. "I thought you Elves were all ethereal and refined-like!"

"I do not think the baby will mind," said Legolas, reappearing from behind the tree.

"Well, I don't know about that," Gimli argued. "Mayhap from now on, whenever she meets an Elf, she'll think of torrents and floods."

"Or rivulets and spring rains," laughed Legolas.

"Did you wash your hands?" Gimli asked suspiciously.

"How could I? We have no more water."

"Hah!" crowed Gimli. "_I _washed my hands. If you go several hundred feet into the woods—as _I_ did—you will find a rill."

Taking their water skins, Legolas followed in Gimli's footsteps until he came to the stream. After washing his hands, he filled the water skins and then returned to Gimli, who was crooning something that Legolas recognized as a lullaby even though the words were dwarvish. Moved at the warrior's gentleness, the Elf found it unexpectedly difficult to speak.

"As we have water," he said, his voice unsteady, "we should make some more broth."

Gimli looked anxiously at him. "You sound like a frog with a mosquito caught in its throat! Are you sure you are not still suffering the ill effects of those mushrooms?"

Legolas shook his head and tried to reassure the Dwarf with a weak smile. Then he set about building a fire to brew the broth. Gimli, meanwhile, made a nest of his cloak for the child, and after repeatedly adjuring Legolas to be careful of the infant, the Dwarf began to gather moss to line the baby's nappy. "Very absorbent, moss is," he explained to Legolas. The Elf was both surprised and amused that the Dwarf should know how to line a baby's nappy. Watching Gimli gathering the clumps of moss, the Sinda prince felt as if he had swallowed that mosquito, and his weak smile turned into a broad grin. 'Friend Gimli', Legolas thought to himself, 'I am glad I have made your acquaintance. Never was such fierceness and tenderness to be found together within one soul!'

Hours after this interlude, this fierce and tender but drowsy Dwarf was somehow managing to keep his seat whilst holding fast to the infant. Legolas reined up their horse. "I'm all right," protested the groggy Dwarf. "Pray do not stop on my account, for we must bring this babe safe to Helm's Deep!"

"I do not stop on your account, Gimli," Legolas reassured the Dwarf. "Although," he added, "I would not hesitate to do so, for I deem that the baby has gained enough strength from the broth so that her life is no longer in immediate peril. Ne'ertheless, it is on Arod's account that I stop. We have pushed him as far as is safe. It would be ill indeed if, in his weariness, he stumbled and you were to be thrown to the ground. You wouldn't want to land on top of the infant—as you once landed on top of me!"

Gimli had not forgotten how Legolas's ribs had been broken when the Elf had been caught between Gimli and a rocky outcropping on the Plains of Rohan. "Oh, no!" he said quickly. "I shouldn't want the horse to stumble. Quick! Take the babe!"

Legolas dismounted, and Gimli gingerly handed him the infant before dismounting himself. Then Legolas returned the baby to Gimli, and the Dwarf once more sat cross-legged upon the ground, the baby nested in his lap and contentedly sucking upon a cloth dipped in broth.

"How old do you suppose that baby is?" Legolas called over his shoulder as he gathered sticks.

"No more than six months," Gimli replied, "which is fortunate for us all."

"Why do you say so?"

"Very young infants are not afraid of strangers. Along about six months of age, all of a sudden like, they grow terrified of folks other than their own near kin. This baby would be inconsolable 'twere she only a little older."

Again Legolas was surprised at the Dwarf's knowledge. "Gimli," the Elf said as he knelt to kindle a fire, "you said yesterday that you knew nothing about nursing babies. Yet you knew to line her nappy with moss, and now you tell me that infants become afraid of strangers at a certain age. I think you know a great deal about nursing babies!"

The Dwarf looked embarrassed. "Nieces'n'nephews," he muttered. "Always pulling at my beard, they were, and scattering my tools about. Many were the days when I couldn't get any work done without first clearing the little beggars from my anvil. What with being surrounded by swarms of the creatures, I couldn't help but learn about the care and feeding of 'em! Do you need to be burped?"

This last was of course addressed not to Legolas but to the infant, who was screwing up her face and writhing her little body. Gimli draped her over his shoulder and gently massaged her back until she burped. "Now, then," he said, "I had best check her nappy."

"Does she feel wet?" Legolas asked.

"No, but as a general rule, it's liquid in, liquid out. No sooner do you feed 'em than you have to change 'em."

Gimli spread out his cloak and placed the infant upon it. Tenderly, he unswaddled the baby, removed her nappy, and took it aside to shake out the soiled moss. Then he gently rewrapped the infant in her swaddling clothes. As he hovered over her, she reached up a little fist and seized hold of his beard. Legolas grinned, remembering the time _he_ had seized the Dwarf's beard. Only this time, Gimli did not bellow, "Not the beard!" Instead, he carefully freed his whiskers from the infant's tiny fingers. "Do you know, Legolas," he said when he was finished, "we can't keep referring to the little tyke as 'the baby'. We have got to name her."

Legolas cast about for names that would please the Dwarf. "We could name her 'mallen'," he suggested. "That means 'gold'. Or perhaps 'malthen', that is to say, 'golden'."

"Pretty names for a pretty babe," Gimli said approvingly. "But let us not be too hasty. Have you any others?"

"Both 'celebron' and 'celevon' signify 'silver'," Legolas continued. "And the word for jewel is 'mir', whilst 'míriel' means 'sparkling like a jewel'."

"That's the one," exclaimed Gimli. "Sparkling like a jewel—Míriel!"

He bent down over the child. "Míriel," he cooed. "Míriel. Ow! Your nuncle Gimli is going to be bare-faced if you don't leave off grabbing his beard. You must understand that it is a dreadful humiliation for a Dwarf to be bare-faced!"

Míriel chortled, which drew a chuckle from Gimli. "Well," he said indulgently, "it has been hot of late—perhaps it would be best if my beard were thinned out a little."

Legolas grinned and went to the saddlebag to fetch the kitten. The Elf was certain that the kitten looked at him reproachfully as he freed the creature from his canvas captivity, but he was equally sure that the little cat forgave him after he doled out water and a few morsels of meat. After lapping the water and nibbling on the meat, the tiny cat stalked back and forth in front of the fire a few times before curling up beside Míriel, who was now napping. Smiling upon the domestic scene, Gimli pulled out his pipe.

"You are not going to smoke so near to Míriel," protested Legolas. "You will fill her tiny lungs with noxious fumes! That cannot be good."

"We-ell, I suppose you are right," conceded Gimli. He looked back and forth between his pipe and the sleeping infant.

"Why don't you go a little apart?" suggested Legolas. "Far enough so that she does not inhale the smoke."

The Dwarf looked longingly at his pipe, but he looked equally longingly at Míriel. "No," he said suddenly, putting aside his pipe. "I reckon it won't do me any harm to leave off smoking for a few days."

Legolas felt as if he had another mosquito in his throat. He coughed, and Gimli seized upon that fact.

"Hmph!" exclaimed the Dwarf. "_I_ am the smoker, and _you_ are the one who can't breathe, seemingly. Are you all right?" he added in genuine concern as Legolas suddenly leaped to his feet.

"Yes," Legolas said hastily, "but I think we have tarried long enough."

The Elf scooped up the kitten and returned him to the saddlebag, strapping it closed against the little cat's mewls of protest. "Come, Gimli," he urged. "Let me help you onto Arod."

Grumbling , as always, at the indignity of being boosted onto the horse, the Dwarf nonetheless allowed Legolas to help him scramble atop the stallion. Once Gimli was settled, Legolas handed up the still-sleeping Míriel. Then the Elf vaulted onto the steed. Before he could urge Arod onward, however, Men swarmed from forest.

Men to the front of them, to the back of them, to the side of them—the travelers were surrounded on all side by ragtag humans armed with bows, swords, and cudgels. No warriors, these, but brigands. "We can take them," growled Gimli.

"Míriel," Legolas reminded the Dwarf softly. "We don't want a fight. We must try to talk our way out of a skirmish."

The Elf dismounted, leaving his bow with Gimli, and held out his hands palm upward to show that he was unarmed. The Men lowered their own bows. As soon as they did, Legolas shouted, "Noro lim!" _Ride swiftly! _Arod had not been raised in Rivendell, but Legolas had taught him several elvish commands, and now the stallion leaped forward, trampling down a robber who stood in his way, and dashing into the cover of the trees.

Gimli clutched the horse's mane with one hand and held fast to Míriel with the other. The child wailed in fright as Arod galloped through the forest, swerving to avoid obstacles. "Whoah!" shouted Gimli. "Stop! Hold! Freeze!"

Arod paid no attention to Gimli's cries, and the Dwarf frantically tried to remember the words that Legolas used to communicate with the horse. "Daro!" the Nauga suddenly cried. _Stop!_

At this elvish command, Arod pulled up. Míriel was still crying hysterically, and Gimli set about soothing her. He felt frantic himself, but he knew that he must not communicate his distress to the child. Gently he patted her back and crooned a lullaby into her ear. Soon her cries had diminished to hiccups, and Gimli was able to look about and take stock of their situation. He saw nothing but trees and heard nothing but birdsong. 'I reckon we have left those brigands far behind', he said to himself, 'but that means we've left Legolas far behind, too'. The Dwarf's eyes stung a little. 'Got dust in my eyes', he muttered as he rubbed at them. What was he to do? He wanted to go back and help Legolas, but he couldn't carry a baby into battle.

"Durned Elf!" he muttered aloud. "The lad doesn't even have his bow. Although," the Dwarf consoled himself, "he has got those two knives of his strapped upon his back."

Míriel gurgled. "That's right," Gimli said to her. "Legolas the Two-bladed is worth a dozen Men. Still, we must get help to him as fast as we may.

Gimli looked about, paying particular attention to the location of the sun. "It seems to me," he mused aloud, "that Arod has carried us back in the direction from which we came. So I reckon Edoras is now closer than Helm's Deep. Very well! We will return to Meduseld so that Éomer may send out a rescue party. Heh! Éomer is likely to lead that patrol himself. He would grudge any harm befalling Legolas, for he still has hopes of besting him at that drinking game of his!"

Míriel chortled. "For a baby," Gimli said, "you are very good company. Now, I am going to swaddle you tightly and get a good grip on you. We are going to gallop again, but I hope if I hold you fast you will be less frightened than formerly."

'I must tell Arod to swiftly bear us to Edoras', Gimli said to himself as he got a firm grip on Míriel. Carefully he pronounced these words: "Noro lim an Edoras." _Ride swiftly to Edoras_.

As soon as he had uttered this phrase, they were once again galloping through the woods. Gimli bent low, using his body to shield Míriel from the branches that whipped them as Arod dodged around the trunks of trees. As they rode, Gimli continually reminded himself of how skilled Legolas was with the twin blades gifted him by Elladan and Elrohir. 'Hold them off, Legolas', he said to himself. 'Hold them off, and we'll rescue you. But if we can't rescue you, lad', he added grimly, 'we'll avenge you'.


	55. Chapter 55: Guardian of the Forest

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**I would like to thank the following reviewers: _Melanda, CAH, Ne'ith, vectis, punkballet_****. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you unless you have disabled the private messaging feature. (Please notice that the fanfiction site has changed its system so that responses to reviews go out via the private messaging feature. That is why the people who have disabled that feature have not heard back from me.)**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit**_** and **_**The Lord of the Rings. **_**The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as **_**The Silmarillion**_**.**

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly.**

**Chapter 55: Guardian of the Forest **

When Arod sprang forward, trampling one of the brigands, the remaining robbers had been momentarily distracted from Legolas, who likewise leapt for the cover of the forest, but in the opposite direction. He had already put several trees between himself and the Men before they noticed that he had fled.

"Hey, the other one's run off!" shouted a robber.

"After 'im," shouted a second. "We're more likely to catch the one afoot than the one horsed."

The brigands turned and scuttled in the direction Legolas had taken, but they were no trackers. Without having the Elf in sight, they were soon blundering about the forest, crashing through thickets with no idea whether to run east or west, north or south.

In fact, no matter which direction they had run, they would have been unable to find the Elf. For they had something in common with that most famous of brigands, Khan Noonien Singh: they were the captives of two-dimensional thinking. After getting out of sight of his foes, Legolas had fled neither east nor west, nor north nor south. He had scrambled into a tree, and now, sitting comfortably with his back against the trunk, the Sinda was nibbling on the corner of a lembas wafer. From time to time a robber would pass by his hiding place, but Legolas was unconcerned. Even if it occurred to the humans that their prey was hidden in a tree, they could not hope to guess which one. Would they climb the tens of thousands of trees in the forest in hopes of finding the one in which he was hidden? Legolas thought the robbers were foolish, but not that foolish.

After a little while, Legolas put away the lembas wafer and sipped from his water skin. Had he had his bow, he would have turned the tables on his foes, shadowing them and picking them off one by one. However, he had left his bow with Arod, all the better to lull the brigands into feeling safe so that they would lower their own bows. He had not wanted to risk one of them getting off a shot at Gimli and Míriel.

The forest was quiet now, save for bird song, and Legolas did not sense the nearness of any foe. He decided it was probably safe to descend. Cautiously, he returned to the glade where the travelers had rested. He had no trouble picking up Arod's trail. 'Stupid humans', he laughed. 'If they had only thought, they would have realized that it would be much easier to follow the trail of a horse than of an Elf!' Suddenly he felt sorry for his foolish foes. 'I suspect they are brigands because they have failed at other trades', he said to himself. 'Still, they cannot be allowed to prey on folks. Whatever ill-fortune they have suffered, they have no right to inflict misfortune on others'.

Legolas saw at once that Arod's trail led back in the direction of Edoras. 'Arod was stabled in Edoras', the Elf observed to himself. 'It is natural that he should make for a familiar place'. Suddenly he froze. Something was near that was neither bird nor animal, but Legolas was not certain that it was a human, either. He looked all about but saw nothing but a bird flitting from tree to tree. It landed on the branch of a beech tree. Legolas's eyes lingered upon the tree. It was not very old, but it had seen hard times, for the bark on one side was scorched. The injury was a relatively recent one, as the bark had not fully healed. None of the other trees nearby showed any sign of damage.

"I suppose," Legolas mused aloud, "that the tree was struck by lightning, and it alone was injured. Odd it should have been singled out, though, for it is surrounded by much taller trees."

"Not lightning, Master Elf," said a soft voice like the soughing of a breeze through branches. The voice was gentle, but Legolas drew a knife, for Saruman's voice had oft been gentle.

"I mean you no harm, young sir," came the voice again. "I remember that you were with Mithrandir at Isengard, and a friend of Mithrandir I would trust as my own."

"When did you see me at Isengard with Mithrandir?" asked Legolas, looking around for the source of the voice.

"After we defeated the foul wizard who had polluted its environs," replied the voice.

Now Legolas understood where he must look, and he felt rather silly for not having thought of it earlier. "I am as foolish as those humans," he muttered. He eyed the beech, and since he knew what he was looking for, he saw at once the eyes, nose, and mouth of an Ent.

"There was only one Elf in that company," the Ent continued. "The little people spoke of one named 'Legolas'. You must be he."

Legolas sheathed his knife and bowed deeply. "I am he," he confirmed. "So you are acquainted with Merry and Pippin? You are not Fangorn, however, for I know him by sight."

"I am Beechbone," said the Ent.

"Beechbone? Merry and Pippin have told me of you. They say that you were foremost in the assault on Orthanc and that you suffered for it. You were badly scorched by some infernal fire that erupted from one of the many pits that had been dug beneath the Ring of Isengard."

"Yes, and that fire should have been the end of me. I went up like a torch."

"How did you escape?"

"Fangorn had set many Ents to tearing at the foundations of the dam that Saruman had erected to stifle the power of the Isen. Happens that the dam collapsed at the moment that I was kindled. I dashed toward the onrushing waters and doused myself in them."

"That was quick thinking," Legolas said approvingly.

"The prospect of a burning concentrates the mind wonderfully," Beechbone replied wryly. You may have already perceived, Reader, that Beechbone was a 'quick study' as compared to Fangorn. The younger Ent had already conveyed as much information in the space of a few minutes as Fangorn was likely to convey in a week.

"Now, then, Master Elf," Beechbone continued. "You had many companions when you came to Isengard. Surely they have not forsaken you?"

"No, indeed they have not," Legolas said quickly. "The most of them—including Mithrandir—are on the way to Isengard itself, to see how the rebuilding gets on and how Saruman has taken to his changed circumstances."

"Hmm, Saruman." Beechbone shook his head sadly. "I fear that his voice still has the power to do harm."

"What do you mean?" Legolas asked anxiously. Were Mithrandir and the Hobbits walking into a trap?

"Fangorn spends hours each day listening to the old miscreant," Beechbone said gloomily. "I shouldn't be surprised if Saruman soon succeeds in persuading Fangorn to set him at liberty."

Legolas considered whether he ought to try to pick up Gandalf and the Hobbits' trail in order to warn them. No, he decided after a few minutes. His friends likely would reach Isengard before he could catch up with them. Moreover, the threat represented by Saruman no doubt would be better countered by an Istar's wisdom than an Elf's blade. Legolas therefore resolved to put his efforts into finding Gimli and Míriel.

The Elf's meditations were interrupted by Beechbone.

"You are troubled, young sir," he said shrewdly.

"I must decide whether to go after Mithandir or another friend of mine. I think it must be the latter."

"That is likely best. I imagine your Mithrandir can look after himself. Who is this other friend?"

"A Dwarf who has been my companion for many months. He was with me at Isengard."

"Ah, yes. The axe-bearer. It is said, though, that this Dwarf has never been known to take axe to living tree."

"Indeed, he has not. Gimli has hewn many Orcs, but of trees, I swear to you that he has hewn only deadfalls. You would not grudge him the wherewithal to cook his meat?"

"Meat? Nasty stuff, but to each his own. No, I do not grudge him the deadwood to cook his supper. It is probably a nobler calling than crumbling from the dry rot or being dined upon by termites."

Legolas once again bowed. "I thank you for your forbearance, Master Beechbone—especially as I, too, have a preference for cooked meat over raw. Indeed, if it would not offend you, I should like to gather a few sticks and cook a simple repast before going on my way."

"Not here, Master Elf. This spot is too exposed. Wicked Men have been roaming the forest and attacking wayfarers. I should not like them to come upon you."

"It is wicked Men such as those who separated me from my friend. They surrounded us as we were hastening to Helm's Deep with a child whose family had been slaughtered by brigands—perhaps by those very brigands who assailed us."

Beechbone shook his head sadly, the leaves of his crown rustling. "Saruman has been cast down, and I hear tell that the Dark Lord himself has been overthrown, but it will be long before peace extends throughout all lands. But come. I will take you to my hall, where you may rest in comfort and safety."

Beechbone began to stride rapidly, covering a dozen feet with each step of his long limbs. Legolas ran at a jog to keep up with him, but the Elf was not winded and he resumed their conversation.

"You are far from Fangorn Forest, Master Beechbone."

"After the battle, I was in much pain, but movement distracted me from the agony of my burnt bark. I began to walk without cease until I came to this place, by which time my hurts had eased somewhat. I must confess," the Ent added, "that it was also in my mind that I might happen upon an Ent-wife."

"And has your quest succeeded on that score?"

"Alas! I have found no signs of our lost kinswomen; nor has anyone had any tales to tell of them."

"I am very sorry, Master Beechbone. But Middle-earth is vast. Perhaps in some hidden place the Ent-wives still garden."

Beechbone shook his head. "I had a dream one night. In it, the Ent-wives had searched out one last garden spot, alongside the shores of the Great Sea. And when they had planted that garden, they launched themselves into the ocean. Anyone looking on would have thought them to be an enormous raft. West they floated, until they were out of sight of Man and Elf."

"West? They may have come to Valinor, Master Beechbone."

As Legolas spoke, he hoped that it was true that the Ent-wives had found a haven and lived on. Would it be only Men who in the end would inherit the world, he wondered. The dragons had perished, and as frightening as they had been, it had been gratifying to know that such magnificent creatures lived. The Orcs would soon be extinguished, at Aragorn and Éomer's command hunted without quarter. The Men of Gondor and Rohan were under orders to spare not even the lesser Goblins who skulked in crevasses and rarely troubled anyone. The Trolls likewise were being driven out of their redoubts, and helpless in the light of day, were one after another turned to stone. Legolas imagined that in centuries to come their petrified remains would be mistaken for crude statues carved by antique races. As for the Dwarfs, Gandalf had prophesied that they would suffer a dire fate, their subterranean world collapsing in the throes of a great earthquake. The Hobbits, it was hoped by Gandalf, would survive. Smaller even than Dwarfs, they might find sanctuary in lands that Men did not covet. But their numbers would dwindle.

And Elves—there would be no place for Elves in Middle-earth—save in stories. 'So much has been lost, so much will be lost in days to come', Legolas said to himself. 'Let the Ent-wives at least endure; let them come to Valinor and take root in that place'.

"You are grave, Master Elf," Beechbone broke into his thoughts. "I had thought that Elves were merry—or so they are in all the songs."

"Yes, in songs," Legolas said sadly. "But we do not live in songs—or, rather, we live only in songs!"

"Now it must be plain to anyone that you are Mithrandir's friend, for he, too, likes to speak in riddles. You cannot at the same time live in songs and not live in songs, save in a riddle. But never mind that—here is my hall!"

They had come to a glade that was almost entirely surrounded by impenetrable thickets except for a small opening at one end. Here they entered, Beechbone afterwards planting himself in the gap so that no one might follow. Legolas would indeed be safe in this place. Giving way to weariness, the Elf threw himself upon the mossy carpet and allowed himself to fall into a deep sleep.

When Legolas awoke, the moon had risen, and he lay upon his back a little while looking up at its placid face, which gazed down on him benignly. Beechbone was asleep, seemingly, his eyes closed and his boughs waving gently in the night breeze. Suddenly it occurred to Legolas that he was alone with his thoughts, as he had rarely been for the past year. When he had first arrived at Rivendell, self-exiled from his own family but not yet comfortable in Elrond's, Legolas had spent many hours alone. He had fled to the woods whenever he was unhappy, there to brood and pick at his scabbed-over sorrows. He could not remember when the forest had changed from a place to nurse his grievances to a place of contentment, for like the transformation of oak to acorn, the change was not of a day. Steadily he had grown to love Elrond and his household (he had always loved Mithrandir); ne'ertheless, he had become accustomed to spending much time in silent enjoyment of the trees of Imladris. When he returned to his homeland and accepted his role as Prince of Mirkwood, he had had fewer opportunities to escape to the forest, for his devoted retinue was difficult to evade. Still, evade them he had, spending the occasional restful hour perched upon a tree limb, holding silent conversations with his boughed companions.

When Legolas had left Mirkwood to return to Rivendell with news of Gollum's escape, he had looked forward to spending time reacquainting himself with some of his favorite trees in the vicinity of the Hall. Instead, almost at once he had been drawn into Mithrandir's machinations. The wizard had found excuses to throw the Elf into Gimli's company, and it seemed as if he hadn't had a moment to himself from that point onward. The times when Legolas had been 'alone' were merely those occasions when he took the point or stood sentry—and those were hardly opportunities for one to commune with nature!

Now he was alone with his trees except for the sleeping Beechbone, who was very nearly a tree himself. Legolas glanced toward the Ent and smiled. An owl had silently swept into the clearing and was now perched upon Beechbone's shoulder. The scene reminded Legolas of Radagast. The Elf's smile faltered. Radagast. Had the Brown Wizard survived the War of the Ring? If he had, was he still in Middle-earth, or had he departed for the Undying Lands, as Gandalf would shortly do? Would the young Elf ever have the opportunity to speak with Radagast one last time, to thank him for the hours that he had spent pleasantly in his company, listening to the wizard's stories, marveling at the ease with which he conversed with his furred and feathered friends? Suddenly Legolas sat bolt upright. Being in the company of trees was all very well, but every moment he spent in this forest deprived him of precious time with other friends, leafless ones who walked about on two legs and smoked pipe-weed.

At the Elf's sudden movement, Beechbone opened his eyes. With one bough he brushed aside a vine that had fallen across his face. "Hasty as a Hobbit, Master Elf? You have only been resting a very short while, as the forest grows."

"I find myself restored," Legolas assured him. "I must seek my friend Gimli. Arod would carry him out of danger, I believe, but I must not rest until I am certain."

"You have not supped," Beechbone observed.

"I have lembas wafers. One small bite is enough to fill the stomach of a grown man."

"Ne'ertheless, you must join me in quaffing an Ent-draught before you depart."

To this Legolas agreed, for it would have been ill-mannered to refuse. Bending stiffly, Beechbone retrieved a wooden bowl and dipped it in a hollowed-out tree stump, bringing it away filled with a honey-golden liquid. Gravely, Legolas accepted the bowl and sipped from it. The brew changed from amber to forest green as he drank, and the flavor changed from honey-mead to various flavors of mint: apple and lemon mint, spearmint and pennyroyal.

Legolas drained half the bowl and then handed it to Beechbone, who drank the remainder. "Now, Master Elf," said the Ent as he set aside the bowl, "you must permit me to set you on your way."

"You have been very kind," Legolas replied. "I must not trouble you further."

"It will be more trouble," Beechbone observed wryly, "if I have to exercise myself in pursuing any wicked Men who might happen upon you. I expect you know how to climb trees better than most, Master Elf, so up you go!"

Legolas bowed in acknowledgment of the compliment and then nimbly climbed upon one of the Ent's shoulders. Beechbone strode from his hall, and Legolas soon realized that on the previous day the long-limbed Ent had not been striding as rapidly as he could have. 'I was forced to run at a jog to keep up with him yesterday', Legolas said to himself. 'Today I should have to flat out race—and even then I should barely be able to keep him in sight!'

In short order Ent and Elf had returned to the spot where they had met. Legolas pointed out Arod's trail, and they began to follow it. After about an hour, Beechbone suddenly rooted himself in place and uplifted several of his boughs, screening Legolas from sight. A large band of Men trudged by, swords and long knives in their belts, cudgels and bows in their hands. Peeking out from his vantage point, Legolas counted their numbers. 'Thirty-seven', he thought to himself. 'It seems that Gimli and I were attacked by only a portion of the band'.

To Legolas's distress, he saw that several of the outlaws led horses. He was now very glad that Arod had made for Edoras. The forest was infested with outlaws, some horsed, and Éomer must be warned. Thus far the brigands had preyed upon travelers who ventured into the woods, but they might be strong and bold and possess horses enough to launch forays onto the plains, raiding settlements at the edge of Éomer's domain.

After waiting until it was certain that no brigands lingered, Beechbone strode anew through the forest, and soon they reached the edge of the woods. Legolas stood up upon Beechbone's shoulder and looked eagerly into the distance. There was no sign of Arod or his riders. The Elf was a little disappointed but also relieved. "I know from the tracks," he said to Beechbone, "that Gimli is clear of the forest. In the main I am happy that he has passed beyond my sight, for that means that he has also passed beyond the sight of any brigand who might happen by. Now I will hasten after him."

The Elf leaped from his perch upon Beechbone. "Stay well, Master Elf," said Beechbone. He inclined his crown slightly, and Legolas replied with a respectful bow. "You match me bow for bough," jested the Ent, waving a branch in illustration. Then he turned and vanished into the forest, becoming indistinguishable from the trees that he guarded.

'I had not thought the Onodrim so merry', Legolas thought to himself, 'but then I was judging only by my acquaintance with Fangorn. Perhaps there is as much variety amongst Ents as among any race'.

Turning his back upon the forest, Legolas began to run as steadily as he had when, as one of the Three Hunters, he had raced across the Plains of Rohan in pursuit of Merry and Pippin and their Uruk-hai captors. He had run until the forest at his back had dwindled to a thin line against the horizon when he heard the distant rumble of hooves coming toward him. At once he threw himself upon the ground, his Lórien cloak making him as indistinguishable amidst the tall grass as Beechbone had been amongst the trees.

'It may be a company of Rohirrim', he said to himself, 'but some of the brigands have horses. Perhaps some of their fellows, horsed, have already begun to ride out onto the plain'.

Suddenly Legolas trembled with fear, but not for himself. The horsemen were riding back from the direction in which Arod had galloped. What if they _were_ brigands and they had encountered Gimli and Míriel? If they had slain his friends, Legolas vowed, he would avenge them, even at the cost of his own life.

Taking a knife in each hand, Legolas cautiously peered above the grass, waiting to learn his fate and the fate of his friends.


	56. Chapter 56: Child of God

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**I would like to thank the following reviewers: **_**Melanda, vectis, punkballet, Ne'ith5, **_**and**_** CAH**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you unless you have disabled the private messaging feature. (****Please notice that the fanfiction site has changed its system so that responses to reviews go out via the private messaging feature. That is why the people who have disabled that feature have not heard back from me****.)**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit**_** and **_**The Lord of the Rings. **_**The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as **_**The Silmarillion**_**.**

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly.**

**Chapter 56: Child of God **

Swaddled tightly and held securely, Míriel did not at first protest the pace set by Arod as the horse bore Dwarf and child in the direction of Edoras. At length, however, the baby grew hungry and began to cry. "Daro," commanded Gimli, and Arod slowed to a canter and then halted. Gimli gazed anxiously down at the earth, which seemed further off than usual. The Dwarf generally dismounted by sliding on his belly and dropping to the ground. How was he to do that whilst clutching Míriel? Suddenly Gimli's thoughts were interrupted by the mewling of the kitten. Distractedly, the Dwarf opened the kitten's saddlebag, and the little cat at once clambered out. Gimli eyed the now-empty saddlebag. "Well, that will hold her for a minute," he muttered. Gently he placed the baby into the abandoned bag, carefully positioning her so that her face was not stifled. Then he slid clumsily from the horse. Once his feet were safely planted on the ground, he immediately lifted Míriel from the saddle bag. "Now, now," he cooed as he settled himself cross-legged on the ground, "your nuncle Gimli will see you fed."

As Arod grazed nearby, Gimli dipped the cloth in broth, and Míriel contentedly sucked upon the makeshift teat. The kitten meanwhile tumbled in the grass at the Dwarf's feet, pouncing upon grasshoppers and crickets. Gimli chuckled at the antics of the tiny creature. "You have the makings of a tracker," he laughed. "We must give you a name in keeping with your talents. I wish Legolas were here. That lad is good with words. I suppose I could take a gander at naming you, but I'd druther Legolas had his say first."

Míriel left off eating and began to tug at Gimli's beard. She whimpered a little. Gimli looked closely at her. She was drooling and working her mouth. "I wonder," muttered Gimli. He picked up the water skin and rinsed off his hands. Then he gently rubbed the baby's lower gum with his forefinger. "Ow!" he suddenly cried. "So you _do_ have a tooth." He laid her on the grass and went to his pack, returning with a small cloth pouch. Opening it, he took out a piece of hardtack. "Cram," he announced. "Dwarvish waybread. It is not as tasty as lembas—well, to be honest, it is not tasty at all. But you can gnaw on one for hours without it crumbling to bits."

Míriel regarded him gravely, looking as if she understood every word he uttered. Gimli chuckled anew and held out the hardtack. Míriel seized it with both hands and began to mouth it.

Nearby, Arod suddenly raised his head and nickered. Then, to Gimli's consternation, the horse, which Gimli had not hobbled, broke into a gallop, racing toward the horizon.

Gimli began to swear, but then, remembering the baby, broke off.

"Never thought I'd say this," he said mournfully, "but I'd rather be horsed. It's a long way to Edoras."

Gimli returned to Míriel and swaddled her, making sure to leave one of her hands free so that she could continue to gnaw on the hardtack. "Now as to you," he addressed the kitten, "you are going to have to walk. I can't carry you both."

The Dwarf set out in the direction of Edoras. The kitten scampered in his wake and after a few minutes began to amuse himself by pouncing upon Gimli's feet, nearly tripping him more than once. This went on for several dozen yards until Gimli stopped abruptly. "I have only got the two hands," he huffed in exasperation, "and as you can see, they are both being used at the moment."

The kitten ignored Gimli's protests and tried to clamber up the Dwarf's leg. "Ow!" Gimli exclaimed as the kitten's claws penetrated his leggings. Grumbling, the Dwarf scooped up the kitten and placed the little creature upon his shoulder. And so, with a kitten on his shoulder and an infant in his arms, the doughty warrior marched on.

As he walked, Gimli worried over how they would manage for food now that Arod had run off, taking with him not only a saddlebag of provisions but Legolas's bow. 'I don't reckon I could bring down a bird on the wing, as Legolas could', Gimli said to himself, 'but if I sat very still near a water hole, perhaps I could have felled a deer. Failing that, at least I could have used the bowstring for a fishing line. Or mayhap I could have fashioned a snare and caught a rabbit!'

Gimli had to acknowledge to himself that it was likelier that he would catch a fish or snare a rabbit than bring down a deer. 'But it don't make no never mind', he thought sadly. 'I don't have the bow, no how'.

He was brought out of his regretful reflections by a distant rumble. Anxiously he scanned the distance. Was that dust yonder? Something appeared above the horizon, a thin line that grew closer as he watched. Gradually the line resolved itself into a series of dots moving rapidly toward the Dwarf.

'Now those are either raiders or Rohirrim', Gimli said to himself. 'If they are raiders, we're in a bad way. If they are Rohirrim, they either recognize me as the friend of Aragorn, or they don't. If they don't, we're in a bad way. So we've got two shots at being in a bad way, and one shot _not_'.

Gimli gently laid Míriel upon the grass. She ceased gumming her hardtack long enough to smile upon the Dwarf. He beamed back at her before taking the kitten from his shoulder. Clutching the little creature with one hand, he curled up beside the baby. With his other hand he drew his Lothlórien cloak over them all, and the three wayfarers vanished from sight, seemingly nothing more than a slight irregularity on the surface of the plain.

"Hope we don't get trampled," Gimli muttered to himself, thinking back to the brigand who had been ridden down by Arod. Of course, that had been at the command of Legolas. The Elf had once told Gimli that a horse, unless panicked, would generally step over a creature lying in its path. "The creature may be unseen to the rider, hidden by tall grass," Legolas had said, "but the horse will sense the creature's presence and avoid treading upon it."

The rumble resolved itself into hoof beats. Soon Gimli could hear horses galloping by to either side of their hiding place. Then the horses halted. Gimli and his friends were in the middle of the herd. The Dwarf heard the snuffling of the steeds and the chomping of grass as their riders allowed them to lower their heads. Suddenly a horse snorted at his very ear, and the cloak was pulled from his head. Gimli found himself staring at Arod's muzzle, an edge of the cloak in the horse's teeth. He swore and leaped to his feet, his hand on the axe in his belt. Arod dropped the cloak, leaving Míriel and the kitten still concealed.

On every side were grim-faced Men, their spears couched. Gimli opened his mouth to speak.

"Miaaaaow!"

Flummoxed, Gimli clapped his mouth shut as the Men burst into laughter. Then the Dwarf saw a familiar face. Haleth urged his stallion forward, the other Men pulling their horses aside to make way for him. Gimli stared at him in amazement. 'That youngster has grown a foot if he's grown an inch', the Dwarf marveled.

"Friend Gimli," called Haleth, grinning, "has the cat got your tongue?"

Gimli opened his mouth to reply.

"Miaaaaow!"

Red-faced, Gimli bent down and drew the kitten from beneath the cloak, holding it up for all to see. The Men laughed anew.

Haleth smiled again, but then he grew serious.

"Gimli, Arod rode alone into our encampment. At once we took to our horses and back tracked his trail—although we would have passed you by if Arod had not alerted us to your presence! We are relieved to see you well. But what has befallen to part you from your friend Legolas? I pray that he has not suffered an injury."

The Dwarf bent down and drew aside the cloak, revealing Míriel, who was still contentedly gumming her hardtack. At the sight of the baby, the Men exclaimed their alarm, for they knew of only one reason why a babe would be parted from its parents.

"Master Haleth, Legolas and I came across a family slaughtered by brigands. Only the kitten and this infant survived. We were trying to bring them to a settlement when we ourselves were ambushed by the robbers. Legolas dismounted and bade Arod carry me and these two to safety. Then, a little while ago, whilst we rested, Arod dashed off—to bring help, seemingly. Legolas does not have his bow, and I fear for him at the hands of those brigands!"

"We will ride to his aid upon the instant," Haleth exclaimed.

"And I will guide you," vowed Gimli.

"Nay, my friend," Haleth answered. "The path is plain to see. We need no guide, and you cannot ride into battle with a baby on your lap. Let Arod bear you to Edoras."

"Let one of your riders bring the baby to Edoras," Gimli argued. "Then I may accompany you."

Haleth shook his head. "You are doughty, Gimli, but you must concede that we Rohirrim will ride the faster if you take the path to Edoras."

Gimli did not want to abandon his friend, but he also did not want to delay Legolas's rescue. He nodded unhappily. He picked up Míriel and hugged her to his chest as he watched the Rohirrim spur their horses and gallop toward the forest from which the wayfarers had fled. After a few moments, Arod nudged the Dwarf's shoulder with his nose.

"Right," muttered Gimli. "No sense standing here like a sun-addled Troll,"

He placed Míriel in the empty saddlebag and the kitten before the saddle. "Now you stay put a moment," he adjured the tiny cat as he led the horse toward a rock outcropping. With something to stand upon, the Dwarf was able to scramble into the saddle. Once mounted, he lifted Míriel from the saddle bag. The kitten, however, was of no mind to take Míriel's place. With claws extended, he batted at Gimli's hand when the Dwarf tried to take hold of him.

"Fine!" huffed Gimli after the kitten had succeeded in scratching his wrist. "But if you fall off, don't expect me to climb down from this behemoth to rescue you. You shall have to run all the way to Edoras, is all!"

At the word 'Edoras', Arod broke into a trot, and Gimli grabbed for the pommel with one hand while getting a good grip on Míriel with the other.

"Durned horse," the Dwarf grumbled, seemingly forgetting that only a little while earlier he had been lamenting the fact that he was unhorsed. Soon he had adjusted to the rhythm of the horse, however, and his thoughts turned to Haleth. Again he marveled at how much the lad had grown.

"As tall as Éomer, I reckon, although not so broad-shouldered. And high in the estimation of his Men, too. I saw everyone looking to him, even those older in years. He is a Man worthy to be called the son of Háma."

At that moment, Háma's son was galloping toward the forest stronghold of the brigands. Suddenly his horse reared, but Haleth, Man of Rohan and Horse-master, quickly regained control of his steed. As he did so, a lone figure materialized before him.

"Mae govannen, Haleth son of Háma," said the apparition, calmly sheathing two knives.

"Westu hál, Legolas son of Thranduil," replied Haleth, gesturing to his Men that they should lower their spears. "Gimli will be glad to know that you are well."

Legolas smiled broadly, in his relief breaking through his calm facade. "If Gimli is well, then I reckon the babe is well also. Gimli would die before any harm came to those he loves."

'You among them', Haleth said to himself. Aloud, he said, "It is as you say, my Lord. The infant is well. The kitten, too," he added. "Gimli is carrying both to Edoras. If you like, you may take one of our spare mounts and follow after them."

"You yourself do not return to Edoras straightaway."

"True," Haleth replied. "We pursue the brigands. They have raided several villages, and for that and for this latest outrage, they must be tracked and punished."

"Then I will accompany you. I may be able to assist you, for I have some skill in the forest."

"Is that so?" said Haleth, pretending astonishment. He gestured to one of his Men, who led a horse to the Elf. The Sinda sprang onto the steed in his usual fashion, seemingly unfettered by the forces that press upon mortals and hold their feet upon the ground.

With Legolas riding by Haleth's side, the company swiftly rode toward the forest. At its fringe, Haleth halted his troop. "We shall leave our horses with a guard," he announced, "for from here on we need stealth rather than speed." Legolas nodded approvingly, and Haleth told off a handful of Men and ordered them to herd the horses back onto the plain. "Keep them far enough from the forest so that you may not be taken by surprise," he commanded, "but close enough so that you may see if we signal for your return."

The horses sent to safety, Legolas swiftly led the Rohirrim to the spot where, concealed by Beechbone's limbs, he had last seen the brigands. Bent over, he began to follow their trail. Suddenly he halted and crouched low. Haleth and the other Men immediately imitated him. "On the other side of those trees," Legolas whispered. On their bellies, Legolas and Haleth crawled forward and from underneath a tangle of vines peered into a clearing where the brigands lounged about gorging themselves upon meat and guzzling from tankards. In the center, barrels and boxes and sacks were heaped, no doubt looted from the traders and villagers they had attacked. They were a hardened lot, far gone in villainy—all save perhaps a young lad who turned a spit from which a haunch dripped grease into a sputtering fire. "Godcild," bellowed one of the Men, "you misbegotten son of a cur! Bring me more ale."

The boy at once hurried toward the Man, who rewarded him by flinging a tankard at his head. The lad ducked and the vessel narrowly missed him. Godcild retrieved it from the dirt and quickly filled it with ale. Cautiously, he approached the Man, who with one hand seized the tankard and with the other cuffed the boy. The other brigands snickered and jeered as the lad staggered, caught himself, and returned to the fire, where he again tended to the spit, his face impassive.

While the robbers were distracted by this cruel entertainment, Haleth was ordering his Men so that the clearing was surrounded. It was a large clearing, and their foes were many. "I am afraid," Haleth whispered to Legolas, "that some of those brigands will break out of our ring. But it cannot be helped. We shall deal with as many as we can, and afterward pursue the survivors."

Legolas nodded his agreement. He crouched in readiness, a knife in each hand, awaiting Haleth's signal, which came sooner than the young Man had intended. One of the brigands surged to his feet and ambled from the clearing to make water. He stumbled over one of the hidden Rohirrim, a youth filling the saddle of a Rider lost before the Black Gates of Mordor. This was the youngster's first sortie, and although he slew the surprised brigand, he did not have the craft to kill his foe cleanly. The brigand's death gurgle alerted his fellows, who leaped to their feet and seized their weapons. Haleth likewise leaped to his feet. "Nu mæg cunnian hwa cene sy!" he shouted. _Now we may prove who is bold!_

Several of the brigands tried to rush from the clearing, preferring to flee rather than to fight. They found it impossible to escape, however, for it was as if the trees had formed a barricade at the backs of Haleth's Men. The brigands were forced back into the fray, where the battle went ill for them. They were proof against traders and farmers, but against warriors they stood little chance. Yet they were desperate and would not yield. Inexorably, they were cut down, and soon, at the cost of a few light injuries, the Men of Rohan had slain all save the lad Godcild. He had taken no part in the battle but had thrown himself down beside the fire.

The clearing littered with the bodies of their foes, the Rohirrim stood panting. Haleth looked about. The barrels and casks, sacks and bags containing the goods stolen by the brigands were too many to be removed. "We will send wagons for these goods," Haleth declared. Then he went to stand by Legolas. The Elf was scrutinizing the boy, who was still crouched by the fire.

"On your feet," Haleth ordered curtly. The boy swiftly obeyed, standing before Haleth with hunched shoulders as if he expected them to be belabored with blows. Seeing that the lad was fearful, Legolas chose a voice gentler than Haleth's had been.

"Your name is Godcild?"

"Yes, my Lord," the lad answered in a low voice.

"'Tis a good name," Legolas said encouragingly. "It means 'child of god', does it not?" the Elf continued, turning to Haleth. To Legolas's surprise, Haleth was glaring at the boy. Indeed, Legolas realized that all the Rohirrim were glowering at the lad.

"Godcild," spat one of the Men. "He is called that because he has no father but god—no acknowledged father, anyway. But everyone knows that his mother kept company with Gríma Wormtongue."

"But Gríma never proclaimed him his son?"

"The Wormtongue thought he could do better for himself than allying himself with a poor woman who had nothing to offer but her body," Haleth said harshly. "No dowry. No lands. No kinfolk." The son of Háma had not sheathed his sword, and as he spoke he unconsciously clenched its hilt.

"He is the son of a traitor," shouted a Rider, raising his own sword.

"Bastard," cried another.

"A bitch's whelp," bellowed a third.

Godcild shrank under the angry shouts. He gave a sidelong glance at Legolas and then looked away, but not before the Elf caught sight of the lad's face, partially hidden though it was under his thick unkempt hair. His dark eyelashes and eyebrows, too, were thick and dark. Wormtongue, Legolas remembered, had had straw-colored hair that dangled lankly, and his face had been a bald one, his lashes and brows so scanty and pale as to be invisible. Looking upon Gríma, Legolas had been reminded of a serpent, its naked eyes searching out its prey. Looking upon Godcild, Legolas saw only a boy not yet old enough to grow a beard but otherwise with hair enough.

"It seems that his mother's offense was to be poor," Legolas said mildly. "I am not familiar with the ways of the Rohirrim. Tell me, what is the penalty for the offense of penury?"

"Poverty is no crime," Haleth replied, a little taken aback by the question.

"No? Then on his mother's side he is an innocent."

"But his father—" Haleth began.

"—disinherited him," Legolas finished. "Is it not true that a child can have nothing of his father if the father refuses to grant him his name?"

"I thought you were not familiar with the ways of the Rohirrim," Haleth said dryly.

"The notion of disinheritance is not foreign to my people," Legolas replied, smiling a little. "Now, then, is it not true that Godcild can inherit nothing from a father who refuses to acknowledge him?"

"That is the law," Haleth conceded. "You will now argue that, as that is the case, he cannot have inherited his father's guilt."

"It seems that it is not necessary for me to do so, as you yourself have stated the case with great clarity," replied Legolas, who was grinning outright. Haleth had relaxed his grip on his sword, and after a moment's hesitation, he wiped it clean and sheathed it.

"I suppose," the young Man observed, now smiling a little himself, "that you will now suggest that we treat Godcild in accordance with the name that he does bear."

"That would be wise," Legolas returned, "for if a god does not deny him, then no Man should."

Haleth shrugged. "I am satisfied," he declared. "But," he added, "I fear that Godcild will always remind some folk of Gríma—and in the absence of the father, they may seek vengeance upon the son." He gestured at his Men, who had lowered their weapons but who muttered in agreement.

"As to that," Legolas replied, "the case must be put to your Lord Éomer. It may be that Godcild cannot safely remain within this realm. Your King will know what to do if that be so—whether to send the lad to Gondor or to some other place."

Haleth shrugged again. "Yes, it is a matter for the King. To Edoras, then." He turned and began to depart the clearing, the way again open, for the trees seemed to have mysteriously rerooted themselves in their former positions. His Men fell into step behind him.

"What of these bodies?" Legolas called after them, startled.

Haleth looked back over his shoulder. "No one lives hereabouts who will be offended by their stink," he called. "Let the vultures and the wolves and the worms see to them."

Legolas was horrified. "But the trees," he began to exclaim. He fell silent, though, as a limb brushed his shoulder. "Be sure that the forest will cleanse itself of this filth," Beechbone whispered. "Do you not remember how the environs of Helm's Deep were restored?" Legolas looked up, and the Ent inclined his crown slightly. Reassured, Legolas nodded and followed Haleth. When the Elf reached the edge of the clearing, he looked back. Godcild had not moved, but he had raised his head. The lad took a tentative step in the direction of the Elf. Legolas smiled at him, and the boy smiled shyly in return. "Come," said Legolas. "For a time I was fatherless myself, but I endured."

The boy crossed over to Legolas. The Elf gestured that the lad should walk by his side, and as they walked he questioned him.

"How came you to be in the company of those brigands?"

"After the Wormtongue fled Edoras, folk threw stones at our dwelling. My ma said worse would follow, so we bundled up our belongings and slipped away one night. No one would have stopped our going, but we didn't want to be spat upon," he added bitterly.

"Ma said," he went on, "that we should seek shelter in the forest, that the tree limbs would be our rafters and that we could gather acorns and mushrooms. Outcasts always take sanctuary in forests such as this one."

He uttered the last so matter-of-factly that Legolas remembered his momentary pity for Men who turned to robbery for want of any other way to support themselves. How many of those brigands had been outcasts who began to steal out of desperation?

"We reached the forest safely," Godcild was continuing, "and began to gather and store as much as we could against the winter. Acorns we gathered, and pine nuts. We collected and dried mushrooms and berries. I set traps for small game, and we smoked the meat. Fish, too, I trapped, and we smoked their flesh also. I think we should have done well, had it not been for the rain and the chill. I built a brush shelter, but we were always damp and cold. At last my ma took the chest-rot. She coughed up her lungs and died."

His voice was dispassionate as he spoke, but Legolas glanced at his face and saw that his eyes glistened with tears that he refused to shed.

"My mother died when I was born," the Elf said softly. "She died trying to save my life. Your mother did the same."

Now Godcild did cry, but he quickly brushed the tears from his face with a ragged sleeve, leaving behind smeared soot from the fire he had tended. Recovering himself, he continued the tale.

"My ma and I had taken pains to stay hidden, but after she died I wandered heedlessly through the forest. One day I fell asleep in the clearing back yonder. I knew it was frequented by Men because of the fire ring, but I did not care. I awoke to kicks and curses, and I have been with those brigands ever since. I was afraid to run off, for I knew that if they should ever find me again, they would kill me."

"That was wise," Legolas said approvingly.

Godcild looked surprised. "You do not blame me for remaining with the brigands?"

"You said that you lay down in the clearing because you did not care. Those sound like the words of a youth indifferent as to whether he lived or died. But when the brigands captured you, you were careful to preserve your life. So I think that after all the desire to live is strong in you. It is a wise Man who does not throw away his life needlessly. I hope Éomer keeps you at Meduseld, for the child is father to the Man. If you are wise now, surely you will be wise in the future—wiser, actually, for you will gather experience as you once gathered acorns."

"But my father—"

"Ah, yes—your father. All the more reason for Éomer to keep you by his side."

Godcild looked perplexed. Legolas laughed. "Your name," he teased. "It would be a foolish king who did not heed a child of god. As to whether you have any other father, it is debatable, for it is said that a child can always be sure of his mother but never his father."

"But how shall I dwell in a place where people hate me?"

"As people grow accustomed to peace and passions subside, folk who are fair-minded will not, upon reflection, blame you for the fact that your mother kept company with Gríma Wormtongue."

"Not all folk are fair minded," Godcild pointed out.

"True. Now, as to the others, if Éomer countenances you, people anxious to curry favor with the King will find that they can abide you very well. Prove yourself to the King; the others will accept his judgment."

"I do not know how I may prove myself," Godcild said unhappily. "I am not good in the things that matter. The other boys always drove me away from the stables and the training fields, so I have little skill with horse or bow."

"In Meduseld," Legolas replied, "one neither rides nor shoots. In that place one gives and takes counsel. Now tell me: how did you bestow your hours if you could not spend them in riding and shooting?"

"I haunted the warehouses of the priests. These were not places where other children would come to torment me, for they preferred to play out-of-doors. Nor did the seers and the prophets drive me away. I used to help them toll the offerings, and they gave me a portion in recompense. It was the only way I could earn for my mother and me the wherewithal with which to live. For no one would employ my mother as a seamstress, the trade she had been brought up in, and no one would take me on as an apprentice—neither the blacksmith nor the carpenter, nor the wheelwright nor the wagon maker. So I lingered about the shrines."

"First I carried bundles and baskets. Then I began to count the goods that they contained and call out the numbers to the scribes. At length I recognized the marks that the scribes made on their parchments and began to keep the accounts myself. The prophets saw that I was neat in my accounting, and they set me to copying the story scrolls."

"Did you understand the scrolls that you copied?" Legolas asked hopefully.

"Aye. I did. I learned the magic of the marks when I first watched the scribes make entries into their account books, and that was how I learned to do likewise. At first I noticed that 'wheat' and 'wheel' and 'wine' all began with the same mark, and likewise for 'bread' and 'butter' and 'barrel' and 'basket'. Soon it was easy to see that every sound had its own mark. If you recognize the mark for each sound in a word, then the word speaks."

"So you can both read and write. These are uncommon skills and therefore valuable ones. I think you will find your place, and it will be an honored one."

Godcild looked skeptical. "You truly believe this?" he said.

"Yes," Legolas replied firmly. "I truly believe this."

Godcild's expression was still guarded, but he smiled a little.

By now they had reached the edge of the forest. Haleth signaled to the Men on the plain that they should return with the horses. Legolas regained his former mount, and Godcild was provided one as well. Some of the Men grumbled a little at that, but they subsided when they saw that Godcild proved to be a capable horseman even though he had had few opportunities to ride whilst living in Edoras (and even fewer since!). A good rider commanded respect amongst the Rohirrim regardless of his parentage.

"I do not remember Gríma riding as well as that lad," Haleth observed to Legolas.

Legolas suppressed a smile as Haleth uttered the word 'lad' with the gravity of an elder. Not so long ago, Haleth had been a lad himself.

"You cannot expect Godcild to have inherited Gríma's horsemanship," the Elf observed, likewise speaking gravely, "for as we have agreed, the lad can possess nothing of his. If the Wormtongue had a poor seat, then Godcild cannot have one."

Haleth looked suspiciously at Legolas, and the Elf abandoned all pretense of solemnity. He grinned at the young Man, who grinned back, looking for a moment like the young lad he must have been before he had been forced to pick up the sword of his murdered father. With a whoop, he urged his horse into a gallop, and in company with Legolas, he raced carefree across the Plains of Rohan, as bold and unfettered as Men had been in the days of the legendary Mearas of old.


	57. Chapter 57: Pen as Mighty as Sword

**My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**I would like to thank the following reviewers: **_**Melanda, Ne'ith5, **_**and**_** CAH**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you unless you have disabled the private messaging feature. (Please notice that the fanfiction site has changed its system so that responses to reviews go out via the private messaging feature. That is why the people who have disabled that feature have not heard back from me.)**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit**_** and **_**The Lord of the Rings. **_**The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as **_**The Silmarillion**_**.**

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly.**

**Chapter 57: The Pen Can Be as Mighty as the Sword **

Legolas and Haleth galloped for several miles before slowing to a trot. Gradually the rest of the Rohirrim caught up with them, among them Godcild, who looked exhilarated at having the opportunity to canter across the plains of Rohan.

Now traveling at a more measured pace, the company covered several more miles before Legolas spotted something moving on the horizon. The Elf grinned. Gimli was gamely making for Meduseld, but the Dwarf was traveling slowly, no doubt in his anxiety having tightened the reins. "Noro lim," Legolas laughed, in his joy forgetting for a moment that his borrowed mount did not understand Sindarin. "Forth gearu-gang!" exclaimed Haleth, leaning over and swatting the horse on the flank. The stallion shot forward, and a startled Legolas was unseated for only the second time in his life (the first being the time that Gimli lost his balance riding on Arod and in falling pulled Legolas after him). "Frá-liga!" shouted Godcild, and he rode off in pursuit of Legolas's horse.

"Frá-liga?" said Legolas when Haleth and his Men finally stopped laughing. "What language is that?"

Haleth shrugged. "It is akin to our tongue but differs in several particulars. Godcild learned it from his mother, I reckon. Her parents came from the far north, fleeing the turmoil in those parts. On the journey, they took sick, and they died soon after arriving in Edoras, leaving the child with no one. Gríma's parents took her into their household as a servant, for she had no wealth to tempt anyone to adopt her as a bride for one of their sons."

"And the Rohirrim held it against her that she became Gríma's creature? A girl with no parents, no possessions, and no prospects?"

"Now you put it that way," Haleth said slowly, "it seems we have been unjust. She was left to her own devices, with no one to protect her from the malice of the Wormtongue. King Théoden was not proof against his machinations, yet we blamed her for falling prey to them."

By now Godcild was returning, bringing with him Legolas's horse. The Elf thanked him and remounted. "Forth gearu-gang," the Sinda cried, and this time he did not fall off as the stallion broke into a gallop.

In short order Legolas was galloping toward Gimli, who had pulled up his own horse and awaited him. "Took you long enough to catch up," he growled as Legolas reached him. Then he grinned, utterly incapable of disguising his happiness under his habitual gruff exterior. "Laddie," he exclaimed, "you gave me such I fright, I should box your ears for it!"

Legolas laughed, and Gimli joined in merrily. Míriel, too, chortled. As for the kitten, he purred and leaped onto Gimli's lap, kneading the Dwarf's thigh. "Ow," Gimli cried after a minute. "Cat has claws as sharp as an infant's new tooth—by the by, Legolas, Míriel has got one."

"A tooth? That's good. No doubt a wet nurse may be found for her, but foundlings generally must become accustomed to solid food earlier than most babes. The sooner she has teeth, the better."

At these words, Gimli sobered entirely. "Wet nurse. Right. Let us hasten to Edoras."

By now Haleth and his Riders had reached the two friends. Godcild stared wistfully at the baby. "This is Míriel," Legolas said, seeing his interest. "Her parents were slain by those same brigands that captured you."

"I once had a baby sister," Godcild said sadly. "She died when she was no bigger than that wee mite."

Before Gimli could protest, Legolas had dismounted, lifted Míriel from his friend's lap, and placed her in Godcild's arms. "Now you again have a sister," the Elf proclaimed. "It is only right that she be yours and you be hers, for the both of you have been robbed of family."

Haleth nodded approvingly, and his Men murmured their approbation. Now Legolas reached for the kitten. "Hey!" Gimli objected. "You can't mean to give away the cat as well. Ouch!" he added as the kitten again dug his claws into his leggings.

"Kittens need mice, and there are none to be found on a saddle," Legolas pointed out.

"But I haven't even named him," Gimli protested."Ow!"

"I should say his name is Gamp."

"Gamp?"

"Yes. It means 'claw'. Does the name suit?"

"Aye, it does," grumbled Gimli as he reluctantly handed over the kitten to Legolas, who held it up before Godcild. "The kitten and the child have formed an attachment," the Elf told the boy. "It would be a pity to separate them."

Godcild nodded solemnly and accepted the kitten.

"Now Gamp and Míriel are safely bestowed into the hands of Godcild," Legolas said to Haleth, "Gimli and I shall resume our journey."

"You will not ride with us to Edoras?" asked the young Man.

Gimli had slid from his horse after Legolas had handed Míriel and Gamp to Godcild. Standing next to Legolas, Gimli realized that here was an opportunity to renew his acquaintance with the beer of Meduseld. He opened his mouth to speak, but Legolas forestalled him by suddenly bumping against him.

"No, my friend," Legolas said, addressing Haleth. "I have promised to return with Gimli to Helm's Deep, there to explore the Glittering Caves of Aglarond."

"Could have waited," muttered Gimli. "Caverns aren't going anywhere—unlike those durned walking trees of yours."

"But before we go on our way," Legolas continued, "I would like to dictate a letter to be conveyed to King Elessar Telcontar of Gondor."

Legolas turned to Godcild. "I have a writing kit in my pack," the Elf said to the youth, "and it is wrapped in a bit of parchment. Would you fetch those items?"

"I'll hold the baby," Gimli said hastily, and so for a few minutes more the Dwarf was able to nurse the little girl, who cooed and grabbed a fistful of his beard. As for Gamp, Haleth dismounted and placed the little kitten upon the ground. It immediately began to stalk and pounce upon the hooves of Rohirrim horses. Legolas could make out the kitten's process by the ripples of laughter that flowed through the band of Men.

Godcild returned with the writing kit and parchment, and Legolas gestured that he should sit upon the ground. The lad did so and opened the kit. When the wooden box was opened and its contents removed, it could be upended to serve as writing desk. Godcild rested the parchment upon it and opened a bottle of ink. Then, pen in hand, he looked expectantly at Legolas. The Elf began to dictate a letter to Aragorn in which he described the events of the last several days, being sure to include an account of Godcild—both his history and his current circumstances.

The letter finished, Legolas sealed it and entrusted it to Haleth, who promised to send it on to Minas Tirith at the earliest opportunity. Now at last the Elf and the Dwarf parted from the Men of Rohirrim, Gimli once again reluctantly yielding up Míriel.

"I don't see why we couldn't have taken Míriel to Helm's Deep," the Dwarf grumbled as they rode away on Arod. "And I reckon they have mice in the Hornburg as well as in Meduseld," he added.

"The Hornburg is a fortress, not a settlement," Legolas pointed out. "Godcild is more likely to be able to engage a wet nurse for Míriel in Edoras than we would be likely to find one in Helm's Deep."

"Godcild!" exclaimed Gimli heatedly. "Why did you give her to Godcild? He has no standing, no property. Why didn't you entrust her to Haleth?"

"I had several reasons for entrusting her to Godcild," Legolas replied calmly. "It is of course true that he has lost his own family and is in need of kinship. It is a sad person indeed who has no kin. Just as important, Míriel will be as much Godcild's guardian as he will be hers, for an attack on Godcild must now be an attack on her."

"Ah, I see," beamed Gimli. "And the kitten, too. Anyone attacking Godcild will be threatening Gamp."

Legolas laughed. "I had not thought of that," he confessed, "but, yes, the Claw will have Godcild's back, so to speak. Probably literally, too," he added.

"Moreover," the Elf continued, "the folk of Edoras are likely to provide for Godcild in the course of providing for Míriel. Some might grudge his being granted a cottage; they are less likely to grudge the infant being given a place to stay, and I reckon gifts of food, blankets, furnishings, and utensils will be forthcoming for a motherless babe who coos and gurgles and smiles winningly. An adolescent boy who is not only a bastard but reputed to the offspring of a traitor is less likely to be so favored—at least at the outset, before he has had a chance to prove how useful he can be to Éomer."

"Yes," Gimli said slowly. "Were it not for Míriel, I reckon some folk would see him driven off again."

"I am afraid you are right, Gimli. But it is a heartless Man indeed who would throw stones at a youth who has a baby in his arms and a kitten at his feet. The most of the Rohirrim are not that heartless, particularly now that peace has returned to the land. The few that may nurse cruelty within their breasts, I think they will be held in check by the others."

Gimli nodded thoughtfully. "I am puzzled only by one other thing, Legolas. You know how to write. Why did you dictate that letter instead of writing it yourself?"

"Two reasons. First, so that all might hear an account of the ill-treatment Godcild has endured. Second, to demonstrate to the Men of Rohan that Godcild has a rare skill—it is that which will win him the chance to prove that he may be of use to Éomer. It is said that a pen can sometimes be as mighty as a sword, and that is a weapon that Godcild can wield, unlike most of his compatriots."

"The letter goes to Aragorn. Why did you not dictate a second letter to Éomer, so that he may be informed about this matter?"

"The tale will be told by Haleth when he reports to the King. In that fashion a Man of Rohan will be Godcild's advocate—much preferable, I think, than that I, a foreigner, speak on his behalf. Éomer is my friend, true, but his folk cannot help but be better disposed to hearing the tale told by the son of Háma, himself a loyal servant to the late King Théoden."

Gimli was impressed. "You have thought matters through quite carefully, my friend! I reckon Godcild's future is as assured as anyone's can be, given the vagaries of chance."

Legolas nodded. "True, Gimli. All the more so if Godcild is Gríma's son and the lad has inherited any of his father's talents. If that be the case, then Godcild should do very well indeed."

Gimli was puzzled by these words. "You hope that Gríma is the lad's father? I should think you would hope the opposite! Have you forgotten what Gandalf called Gríma: a witless worm?"

Legolas shook his head. "It is true that Gandalf said that, but Gríma was not stupid, merely foolish."

Now Gimli was even more confused. "Legolas, if Gríma was stupid, then he _was_ foolish."

Again Legolas shook his head. "No, my friend. Gríma was very intelligent. In the use to which he put his intelligence, however, he was most unwise."

"I don't know how you can separate the two out," Gimli grumbled.

"Tell me, Gimli, was Boromir a stupid Man?"

"No, I reckon he was not," Gimli answered thoughtfully.

"And was Théoden stupid?"

Gimli shook his head. "I see what you are driving at," the Dwarf said. "They were both of them intelligent, but the one was corrupted and the other gave his judgment into the keeping of Saruman's creature. As a result, both behaved foolishly."

"Yes, that was my meaning. Gríma could not have succeeded as long as he did without considerable cleverness, but his intelligence was misapplied because his motives were bad. I hope Godcild has inherited the cleverness, but without the malice. If the lad should be so fortunate, I foresee for him a long and honorable career. Like Gríma, he shall sit at the right hand of a king, but as Faramir does, without desire for power and wealth."

"Do you think it likely that he shall be so fortunate?"

"I do. I saw how he behaved amongst the brigands. Had he wished to, he could have curried their favor. He did not but was merely obedient enough to preserve his life. His choices whilst still living in Edoras were good ones as well. He could have spent his days in petty mischief, but he occupied his hours in learning to read and write."

"I can think of another proof of the goodness in the lad," Gimli observed. "If he had been evil, Gríma would have recognized that in him. I am sure the Wormtongue should have found employment for the boy if he had been prone to wickedness."

"True. It would never have suited Gríma to acknowledge Godcild as his son, for that would have stood in the way of his ambitions. But that impediment would never have prevented the Wormtongue from making use of the lad—setting him to spying, perchance, or employing him as a sneak thief."

Gimli nodded. "Éomer is fair," he observed, "and if Godcild is clever and wise, the King will provide him the opportunity to prove himself. By the by," the Dwarf continued, "has it struck you that Godcild is the third youngster that we have rescued?"

"True. First we came upon Edenlass, then Míriel, and now Godcild."

"Legolas, don't you find that curious?"

The Elf considered. He understood that he was to remain in Middle-earth after the departure of the other Elves and that Gimli was to accompany him and not be lost in the great cataclysm that would overtake the rest of the Dwarfs. He smiled thoughtfully. It had seemed to him a bittersweet thing that he should remain behind when all his kindred were to depart. He would preserve his friendship with Gimli but lose everyone else who was dear to him. But perhaps there was a greater reason that necessitated he should remain, a reason that would obviate the bitterness of his plight.

"Now you mention it, Gimli, we _do_ seem to be collecting waifs."

"Yes, collecting waifs. Was it Pippin or Merry who remarked on the treasures that they found amongst the flotsam and jetsam of Isengard? We seem to be doing the same, only our treasures are the young displaced by the wars that have swept over these lands."

Legolas laughed. "The treasures of Isengard! You mean barrels of apples and caskets of cheese."

"Listen, my pointy-eared princeling: to one who has subsisted on foul fare, and little of it, a barrel of apples and a casket of cheese would be treasures indeed."

Legolas laughed again. He felt very young. 'I may as well be an elfling', he said to himself, suppressing the urge to outright giggle. 'I am like Gandalf', he thought. 'Now the Ring has been destroyed, he is much given to laughing merrily'.

Suddenly Legolas felt Gimli shaking behind him. "Are you all right, Gimli?" the Elf called.

"Aye, I'm all right," the Dwarf replied. He was gasping—but with laughter, not distress. "Just had a vision of the two of us trotting about and scooping up misplaced tots—didn't think diapering would be part of our quest when we set out from Rivendell."

Now Legolas did giggle, and as a chortling Gimli clung to his sides, he gaily urged Arod on toward Helm's Deep.


	58. Chapter 58: Cave of Wonders

**My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers of Chapter 57: **_**Mystery Maiden 016, punkballet, sazza-da-vampire, L.A.H.H., and CAH.**_** Also, thanks to **_**Dimaranien**_** for the review of Chapter 18, to **_**reviewer**_** for the review of Chapter 41, to **_**: )**_** for the review of Chapter 44, and to **_**Mackenzie**_** for the review of Chapter 56. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you unless you have disabled the private messaging feature.**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit **_**and**_** The Lord of the Rings**_**. The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as **_**The Silmarillion**_**. **

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly. Thank you, Dragonfly!**

**Vocabulary**

**bain—beautiful (Sindarin)**

**Kenward—King + guard (Old English)**

**Naragturg—Black + beard (Khuzdul)**

**Ni faug—I am thirsty (Sindarin)**

**Hebo hen—take this (Sindarin)**

**mellon nín—my friend (Sindarin)**

**Uzbad—Lord (Khuzdul)**

**Chapter 58: Cave of Wonders**

Gimli's face was suffused with the glow of light reflected from a shimmering curtain of stone. Legolas smiled as the Dwarf gently passed his hand over the glittering rock face, caressing it as it were a belovéd friend. "Is it not beautiful, Legolas?" enthused the Dwarf.

"Aye, it is," Legolas agreed. "The Glittering Caves of Aglarond are everything that you promised. These caverns evoke not fear but wonder."

Gimli raised his torch high. "Come, mellon nín," he said excitedly. "Let us go on to the next chamber."

Legolas smiled again. Gimli was increasingly in the habit of peppering his speech with Sindarin phrases. Moreover, he understood vastly more words than he uttered, so much so that Legolas lately had found that he could no longer hold private speech with either Aragorn or Gandalf without the Nauga catching the drift of the conversation. Sometimes, too, the Dwarf took the Dúnadan and the Maia by surprise by addressing them in Sindarin. "Ni faug!" the Nauga exclaimed to Aragorn one day when he arrived at table after a morning spent in the forge. _I'm thirsty!_ "Hebo hen," he declared to Gandalf, handing the wizard a pouch of tobacco when the wizard's own pouch was empty. _Take this._

It must be said that Legolas reciprocated by using some words from his friend's native language. When Gimli behaved in a lofty fashion, Legolas would jokingly address him as Uzbad, _Lord_. He also dubbed one of the Rohirrim Naragturg, _Blackbeard_. This Rider, unbidden, had attached himself to Legolas and Gimli as a servant. Neither the Elf nor the Dwarf wanted his services, however, but so persistent was the human that it seemed he was always loitering nearby. Legolas and Gimi were therefore always careful to refer to him as Naragturg, for they never knew when he would be present and might overhear anything they might say.

"Bain," murmured Legolas as they stepped into the next chamber. _Beautiful_.

Beside him Gimli inhaled sharply. "Laddie, I did not think anything could be more splendid than the previous chamber, but I was wrong."

Raising their torches, the two friends gazed about awestruck. Over the centuries seeping water had hung rosy-hued draperies upon the walls of the chamber, the delicate traceries in some places so thin as to be transparent. From the ceilings were suspended stalactites, each tinted a different color, and from the floor arose stalagmites, which were likewise a kaleidoscope of colors.

"Upon a time the floor of this chamber was covered with water," Gimli said.

"How do you know that, Gimli?"

"There are many signs. Look at that."

Legolas gazed where Gimli pointed and saw what looked like a cascade of water frozen like a waterfall in winter.

"We call that flowstone," Gimli explained. "It forms when water flows over rocks. And there," he added, again pointing, "are shelfstones. They form at the edges of pools, projecting over the water, and they remain after the pool has vanished or its waters receded. And see the pool spars at the ends of those stalactites? They were created when the stalactites dipped beneath the surface of the water."

"They remind me of the spurs worn by Men," Legolas observed.

Gimli examined the spiky structures intently. "Ye-es," he said at last. "Those crystals do look a bit like spurs."

"And those," Legolas continued, pointing at clusters of spheres upon the floor of the chamber, "look very much like pearls."

Gimli beamed. "That's very good, lad. Those are indeed cave pearls. They are rarer than these other formations. If you were to drill to the center of one, you would find a grain of sand or a speck of dirt, just as in the center of a pearl. For the genesis of each, beautiful as it is, is naught but a humble particle. There is a moral here, I think, but I'll leave it to you Elves to spin it into a tale. Oh, look!"

Forgetting the cave pearls, Gimli strode eagerly to the wall of a cave, where ribbons of rock jutted out horizontally. "Helictites," he enthused. "Very uncommon. Oh, straws!" he exclaimed, catching sight of another wonder. He went to stand beneath one of the narrow tubes that dangled from the ceiling. Legolas joined him. "It looks like a reed," he agreed. Suddenly the Elf looked sharply over his shoulder.

"What is it, lad?" Gimli asked.

"I heard something," Legolas said softly. "Are there bats in this cavern?"

"Éomer swears that there are none, for the fortress has been built about the entrance. Any bat who wanted to take up dwelling would have to knock on the gate and beg leave from the Doorwarden. Certainly I have seen no sign of bats—you will find a quantity of droppings in any cavern that they inhabit."

Legolas frowned. "I wonder what it could have been?" he murmured.

"Like as not it was an echo from the cave's entrance," Gimli opined. "Remember that the stables front the cavern. Perhaps it was a horse stamping in his stall."

Legolas relaxed. "Of course, Gimli," he said cheerfully. "I had forgotten the stables. Let us go on."

Gimli led his friend into the next chamber. It was filled with many columns, so many that it was impossible to see to the other side. "Now this is just the sort of chamber in which I used to play hide and seek with my fellows," Gimli said jovially."Were you not an Elf, I would say we ought to put out one of the torches and bestow the other one in a niche. Then the chamber would be dim enough to make the game challenging."

To Gimli's surprise, Legolas pulled off his tunic and used it to smother his torch. "Now, then, friend Gimli," he said coolly. "You must put out your torch as well."

"But then we shall be entirely in the dark."

"True—for the duration of the game. You are carrying your tinder box, are you not?"

"Yes."

"I carry mine as well. It will be an easy matter to relight the torches."

"If we can find them," grumbled Gimli.

"Keep yours in your hand. I shall lay mine aside, however."

Legolas handed Gimli his tunic, and the Dwarf used it to smother his torch.

"Stand still whilst I find a hiding place," called Legolas.

Gimli stood stock still and strained to hear any movements. "Have you bestowed yourself, lad?" he called after a bit.

"Not yet, Gimli," came Legolas's disembodied voice. It echoed in the chamber so that Gimli was not certain from which direction it arose. He remained still.

Suddenly he heard the sound of something striking the wall of the cave. The Dwarf smirked. "You have walked into the wall, haven't ye, Legolas?" he chortled. There was no reply save for the sound of something scrambling across the floor of the chamber and fetching up against a column. Whatever the something was, it was breathing hard. "Legolas!" Gimli called, beginning to feel anxious. Gimli heard the clang of steel against rock, and someone groaned and cursed. Alarmed now, the Dwarf fumbled for his tinderbox. As he did so, he heard the sound of fingernails or claws scraping across the floor. Then someone cried out. Gimli swore as he dropped his tinderbox. Crouching, he groped for it.

Just as his hand closed over the box, Legolas called to him. "You may light your torch now," the Elf said calmly.

Still swearing, his hands shaking a little, Gimli lit the torch and held it up. Stunned, he beheld the Rider Naragturg lying upon his face, Legolas's knee on his back. A few feet away lay a sword.

"Legolas, that is not your sword," Gimli observed, looking hard at Naragturg.

"We neither of us came armed," Legolas replied, his tone matter-of-fact. "Help me remove his belt," he added.

Gimli pulled off the human's belt and handed it to the Elf, who used it to secure the Man's hands before pulling him to his feet. Then Gimli retrieved the human's sword and Legolas's torch. Forcing Naragturg to walk before them, they turned their steps toward the entrance of the cavern.

"You might save yourself much grief," Legolas addressed the Man as they walked, "if you gave the two of us an accounting of your behavior. Your Lord Éomer will not be so gentle a questioner."

"I am your humble servant," the Man replied in an unctuous tone like that once used by Gríma Wormtongue. "I followed you to serve you, as I have done for these past several days."

"And who asked you to serve us?" growled Gimli. "_I_ didn't."

"The open-hearted do not wait to be asked," the Man answered. "We of the Rohirrim are renowned for being hospitable."

"Hospitable to whom?" Legolas retorted bluntly. "Not to us, surely, unless stalking guests with a drawn blade be deemed the proper way to entertain them."

"My sword I kept in my hand to defend you should any creature assail you," the Man replied quickly.

"And what creature would lurk in these caves when even a bat could not evade the vigilance of the Doorwardens?" Legolas shot back.

The air was chilly, as is usual in caves, but the Man was beginning to sweat. Abruptly he stopped and turned to face his accusers. "Ask King Éomer to spare me! If you promise me that, I will tell you who paid me."

"I will ask your Lord to spare you," Legolas said, "but I cannot guarantee that he will heed my words."

The Man nodded. "It is better than nothing," the Man said miserably. "I thought I should cast your body into a pool in one of these chambers, where it would slowly become encrusted with stone until indistinguishable from flowstone, but now, unless you show mercy, it is certain that my own body shall be thrown upon a dung heap, there to be devoured by worms and beetles."

"I will show mercy," Legolas promised. Indeed, he would do more than show it—he would feel it. For at the Man's description of his feared fate, the Elf's wrath was transformed into pity.

'He is a wretch, surely', the Elf said to himself, 'but now he suffers. How could I not feel pity for him, regardless of his former intentions?' For a fleeting instant, Legolas considered releasing the Man and saying nothing to Éomer, but he knew it would be wrong to arrogate unto himself the judgment of the King's subject. Interceding on the Man's behalf was all that he could do.

By now the trio was emerging from the Glittering Caves. At the entrance they found a guard, whose face fell when he saw Naragturg with his hands bound before his back. "My Lords," he stammered. "I allowed this Man to enter in pursuit of you because he told me he was sent to serve you."

"Oh, he tried to 'serve' us, alright," Gimli said dryly.

"Do not be troubled," Legolas reassured the guard. "You had no reason to suspect treachery."

Legolas, Gimli, and Naragturg walked on until they stood before the chamber wherein was Éomer, who had arrived the previous night, having decided to ride out from Edoras on an inspection of the kingdom's defenses. "Now, before we stand in the presence of the King, tell me who suborned you," Legolas demanded.

"The Lord Saruman gave me ten gold pieces," the Man replied, "and he said I should have ten more if I slew the Elf who accompanied Gandalf Greyhame. He said I might kill any of his companions who hindered me, but to be sure to kill the Elf."

"Are we never to be free of that villain's machinations?" scowled Gimli.

"While he lives—no," Legolas answered. He nodded at the Warden, who swung open the door and announced them. Éomer looked up from a table where he was studying a map with Gamling, but his welcoming smile faded when he saw the Rider bound and his sword in the hand of Gimli. "Is this Man a traitor?" he demanded sternly.

"My Lord," Legolas said evenly, "the wizard Saruman continues to seduce the unwary. He tempted this unfortunate Rider, and in a moment of weakness the Man accepted a bribe."

"So he is another Gríma Wormtongue," Éomer said sharply. "For Gríma, too, was weak."

"The Wormtongue was both weak and wicked," Legolas said quickly.

"Weakness is but a prelude to wickedness," Éomer observed. "He accepted a bribe, you say. No doubt it was a payment in furtherance of a foul deed."

"A deed left unaccomplished," Legolas said.

"He intended to perform the deed—that is what matters, Legolas. My friend, it is plain that you seek mercy for this Man, but the times are still dangerous. Pity is a luxury we cannot afford."

Éomer turned to Gamling. "This Man is to be hung and his body thrown upon a dung heap, there to be devoured by worms and beetles."

"My Lord Éomer," Legolas said swiftly, "to hang this Man would be just, but once he is dead your quarrel with him is dead as well. His crime was a moment in time; do not let his punishment last longer than the crime!"

Éomer hesitated. "Very well," he relented at last. "Let him be hung, but then let him be buried after the fashion of a Man of Rohan."

Naragturg shot Legolas a grateful look and, resigned, turned to follow Gamling. Before he had taken two steps, however, Gimli spoke up.

"Am I not to be heard?" he complained. "That Man tried to slay Legolas, and you let Legolas haggle with ye on his behalf. Well, he would have slain me, too, so I've got as much right to haggle as that durn Elf does! And I mean to haggle, for I won't let no pointy-eared princeling get the better of me!"

Gimli put his hands on his hips and glared indignantly at Éomer.

"What would you ask of me?" inquired Éomer, his wrath slowly yielding to amusement.

"Justice!" bellowed the Dwarf. "I want justice!"

"And what form should justice take?" Éomer replied.

"Legolas asked either that this Man's life be spared or that he be buried properly. You granted him the one. As you are a king, you must grant me the other!"

"And if I don't?"

"Then you are no true king! A true king would never treat a petitioner so ill as to refuse to give him his due. That being so, you must grant me my request."

"Well, then, perhaps I should revoke the boon I granted to your friend. That would put an end to the matter."

"A true king would never go back on a promise," Gimli said promptly.

"It seems that I am caught in a conundrum," the King observed wryly. "I have acceded to Legolas's request that I grant the Man an honorable burial. But it follows that I must grant _your_ request that I not hang him in the first place!"

"Well, now, that's what we Dwarves call being caught between a rock and a hard place," Gimli declared. "But we Dwarves are practiced at wriggling our way out of just that sort of tight spot."

"Indeed? What then would you advise, friend Gimli?"

"You can still keep your promise to give that fellow a proper burial—later! Everyone passes on eventually. Well, when this fellow does, you send him off right—song and ceremony and a barrow big enough to house a dragon. Will that satisfy you, Legolas?" the Dwarf concluded, turning to his friend.

Legolas was trying very hard not to laugh (as was Éomer). "Very nearly," he said. "Only one item is lacking. You have neglected to mention beer. No funeral in these parts is complete without beer."

"I swear that I will furnish beer," Éomer proclaimed with mock solemnity. Then he became stern again. "You have been reprieved," he said to Naragturg. "See that you earn the life that at this moment you do not merit."

Naragturg threw himself at the feet of the King. "I will, my Lord," he said humbly.

Éomer gestured impatiently. "Do not grovel!" he exclaimed. "That is not the way to redeem yourself!"

Gamling pulled Naragturg to his feet and unbound him, and Gimli returned his sword to him. With a last grateful look at Legolas and Gimli, the Rider followed Gamling from the chamber.

It was several years later before Legolas and Gimli learned whether the Man had indeed redeemed himself. Returning to Helm's Deep upon a time, they observed a new barrow as they drew near the causeway. It stood amidst other barrows wherein honored warriors were interred, but it was larger than any of the others. "That is a kingly barrow," Gimli observed, "but we have just now left Éomer safe at Edoras."

A boy was playing nearby, and Legolas called to him. "Who lies in yonder barrow?" the Elf asked.

"Kenward the Black-bearded," the boy replied. "He died two months ago in a skirmish on the borders of this land."

"What sort of Man was he?"

"After King Éomer, none braver. He was once nearly executed for some offense long forgotten, but for his later deeds he was honored. He was leading the soldiers of the King's household when he was slain. The King himself journeyed from Edoras to superintend the raising of that barrow yonder, and he drank the first cup in his honor."

"Beer?"

The boy looked at the Elf in surprise. "Aye, the King ordered that no mead or wine be served, only beer. Usually all three flow as freely as the river Isen, but on this occasion beer alone was permitted." The boy grinned. "After the first few cups, no one minded!"

Legolas tossed the boy a penny. The boy grinned again, put the coin in his pouch, and ran off whistling.

That evening, as Gimli and Legolas supped, the Elf surprised the Dwarf by waving away the wine bottle. Instead, Legolas asked for a tankard of ale, which he drowned at one go, after the manner of a Man of Rohan celebrating a hard fought victory.

"Feel anything?" asked Gimli, curious as to what effect tossing back a pint of ale would have upon the Elf.

"A slight tingle in my fingers," said a straight-faced Legolas.

Gimli scrunched up his face. "I seem to remember you saying something of the sort on another occasion, but I can't recollect when it was."

Legolas held up a second pint. "Here's to the Dwarves that go swimming with little, hairy women," he said solemnly.

Gimli stared suspiciously at him. "That sounds familiar, too," he muttered, "but I'll be durned if I remember where I might have heard it."

However, after downing several pints himself, Gimli ceased to puzzle over half-remembered phrases, and on the morrow both he and Legolas arose eager to revisit the Glittering Caves of Aglarond, the exploration of which was much improved by the fact that _this time_ no one was trying to kill them.


	59. Chapter 59: Elf Friend

**My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers of Chapter 58: **_**Mystery Maiden 016**__**, ziggy3, Ne'ith5, Anon**__**, L.A.H.H, and CAH**__**.**_** Also, thanks to **_**SadieSil**_** for ****the**** review of Chapter 1**** and**** to **_**leralonde**_** for the review of Chapter ****15****. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you unless you have disabled the private messaging feature.**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit **_**and**_** The Lord of the Rings**_**. The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as **_**The Silmarillion**_**. **

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly. Thank you, Dragonfly!**

**This chapter ****draws from the**** story "Kinsman****."**

**Who recognizes the basis for the ****Gwaindrúin, ****the ****New Men, and Gwaindrûlad, ****the ****New Man Valley****?**

**Volcabulary**

**Albai—Elf (Black Speech)**

**bass—bread (Sindarin)**

**Glass nín** **le buio—It** **is my joy to serve you (Sindarin)**

**Gwaindrû,** **Gwaindrúin—****New Man, ****New Men** **(Sindarin)**

**Gwaindrûlad—New Man Valley (Sindarin)**

**Im Elvellon Gwanurion—I am Elfriend son of Kinsman (Sindarin)**

**Le hannon—Thank you (Sindarin)**

**lembas—elven waybread (Sindarin)**

**Man eneth gín?—What is your name? (Sindarin)**

**Merin aes—I would like some food (Sindarin)**

**rhaich!—damn! (Sindarin)**

**saes—please (Sindarin)**

**Chapter** **59: Elf Friend**

After Legolas and Gimli had managed to escape unscathed on their first visit to the Glittering Caves of Aglarond, Legolas held Gimli to his promise that they should visit Fangorn Forest. "Oh, very well," grumbled the Dwarf as he clambered atop a patient Arod. "Although I don't remember anything particularly appealing about that forest from our first visit to it."

"That is because we hardly penetrated past the forest's fringe," Legolas retorted. "Moreover, we were hardly in the frame of mind to appreciate its beauties and had no time to explore its environs. We were anxious to recover Merry and Pippin and fearful of being waylaid by Saruman. Then, when we were reunited with Gandalf and learned that the Hobbits were safe, we departed at once for Edoras."

"Those wild trees that showed up at Helm's Deep, they hailed from Fangorn, didn't they?"

"The Huorns? Yes, they had stood dormant in the forest for many a year, until the depredations of Saruman's Orcs so maddened them that they were roused to take action."

"And afterward they returned to Fangorn?'

"Doubtless."

"So," grumbled Gimli, "we are riding toward a forest in which dwell creatures that gulp down fully armed Uruk-hai and leave behind nothing but the belch."

"I have heard Men say that the enemy of an enemy is a friend," replied Legolas with a smile. "We should embrace these Huorns as our allies."

"I don't aim to be no tree-hugger," objected Gimli, "especially when the tree in question has a bite that's worse than its bark."

Legolas laughed. "You have nothing to fear from the Huorns, Gimli. In you they will recognize a kindred spirit."

"A kindred spirit!" protested the Dwarf. "What have I got in common with a tree?"

"You are stout like an oak and resilient like an alder."

"Now don't you go wafting poetical on me!"

"Wafting poetical? I think you mean 'waxing poetic'."

"No, I _do_ mean wafting poetical," Gimli retorted. "When you talk all airy-like, that's wafting. Sometimes I'm surprised you don't float off, your speech is that vaporous! Now a Dwarf, _he_ is firmly planted in this good earth."

"Just like a tree," rejoined Legolas, smirking.

"I'll plant _you_ in the ground in another minute if you don't leave off tormenting me with these word games," harrumphed Gimli. "Hey!"

This latter cry was evoked when Arod suddenly broke into a gallop. Swearing, Gimli clung tight to Legolas, who winced but was too occupied in trying to control Arod to protest at the Dwarf's painful grip.

"What. Is. The. Matter. With. This. Horse?" Gimli forced out through clacking teeth.

Legolas glanced back over his shoulder. "Rhaich!" he swore. "Let yourself fall," he shouted to Gimli, "and arise with axe in hand."

Gimli had had plenty of experience in falling off Arod, so he loosed his hold, relaxed, and allowed himself to tumble backward. As he hit the ground, he rolled and was up on his feet in an instant, gripping his axe with both hands. Legolas, meanwhile, had sprung from the horse as soon as Gimli had fallen. Leaping to the side of his friend, he fitted an arrow to his bow and drew back the bowstring. Together the two friends stood awaiting the pack of wargs that had affrighted their horse. Legolas knew that it was better to confront the beasts head-on than to attempt to outrun them on a panicked steed.

"Thought we'd seen the last of their pretty faces," Gimli muttered.

"We have learned that many evil creatures survived the fall of Sauron," Legolas replied as he aimed his bow at the warg in the forefront of the pack. An instant later, the hulking beast screeched like a ringwraith and plowed headmost into the ground. The next warg stumbled over the carcass and tumbled onto its back. This second warg quickly scrambled to its feet and rejoined the pack. Almost immediately, however, Legolas brought it down again, this time with a well-placed shot. The Elf felled three more of the creatures before casting aside his bow. Drawing his two blades, he nimbly sidestepped a charging warg, slashing the back of its neck as it hurtled by. Its spinal cord severed, its momentum carried it several yards before, convulsing, it collapsed to the ground. Gimli meanwhile had evaded several wargs and brought his axe down upon their skulls as they shot past him. The brutes were huge and powerful but not agile, and Legolas and Gimli took advantage of their deficiency.

Finding themselves no match for the nimble Elf and the quick-stepping Dwarf, the surviving wargs retreated. Gimli feared that they might be stalked by the creatures for the remainder of their journey, but when the beasts saw Legolas pick up his bow and advance in their direction, they slunk away. Gimli, meanwhile, strode to each fallen warg, dispatching two that remained alive.

"Well," Gimli said briskly when he had finished, "all this exercise has given me an appetite. Let's eat!"

Legolas pointed out that their saddlebags had been carried off by the panicked Arod. "If he were an elven horse," he said, "I could send my thoughts to him and so recall him. Alas! Arod is a good horse, but when not in my presence he cannot sense my feelings or divine my wishes."

Just at that moment Gimli's stomach rumbled. Grimacing, the Dwarf glanced at the wargs. "We are not going to eat those beasts!" Legolas cried, following Gimli's look.

"I wasn't going to suggest any such notion," Gimli retorted. "I was merely wondering what they dine on when there are no Elves or Dwarves about."

"Deer, most likely."

"Good! I like venison."

"Gimli, unlike a pack of wargs, we cannot run down a herd of deer in the open. Were we in the forest I could stalk one easily enough. Indeed, were the grass higher, I could do so on this plain. But the vegetation here is much reduced. See how it has been scorched by a grassfire. By moving slowly and staying upwind, I might be able draw within bowshot of a herd hereabouts, but it would take a long time—and if we engage in such a hunt, our progress toward Fangorn must of necessity be desultory."

"Are we to starve, then?" grumbled Gimli.

"I shall keep my bow at the ready," Legolas promised. "As we walk, we are sure to encounter rabbits and suchlike smaller game."

"Walk? Aye, there's another problem. Are we to walk all the way to your precious forest?"

"Time was," smiled Legolas, "when walking was your preferred mode of transportation."

"If I am not in a hurry, I still prefer to walk," the Dwarf replied. "but I want to get this journey over before the end of the Fourth Age."

"The Fourth Age has only just begun, Gimli."

"Exactly!"

Legolas laughed as he went to retrieve his arrows. The shaft of one was broken, but he scavenged its point. Gimli nodded approvingly as he cleaned his axe and Legolas's blades. "No reason to waste good metal," he called.

Having seen to their weapons, the two friends began walking steadily northward. As they journeyed, Legolas saw marks that showed Arod galloping in the same direction. 'At length he will stop to graze', he said to himself. 'Perchance we shall overtake him and so not have to walk the entire distance after all'.

By and by a rabbit sprang up before them, and Legolas brought it down handily. Quickly he skinned and butchered it. Cooking the carcass would represent a problem, however, as there was very little wood thereabouts. Legolas wrapped the meat in the skin, and he and Gimli resumed their march. As they walked, they kept a lookout for the occasional bush. By and by the two friends had gathered sufficient sticks for a frugal cook fire, and using Legolas's knives as spits, they roasted portions of rabbit over the careful blaze. After they had satisfied their hunger, Legolas reknotted the remaining meat into the rabbit's skin and tied the makeshift bag to his belt. Gimli, for his part, gathered such sticks as they had not burned and bound them into a small faggot that he slung over his shoulder. To this bundle he added additional sticks as they came across them.

They strode on in this fashion for several hours. At length, although no longer hungry, the Dwarf began to feel thirsty.

"I will never again be so foolish as to tie my water skin to anything what can run off," Gimli grumbled. "We are not far from water," the Elf reassured him. "See, yonder is a line of cottonwood trees. They are a species that roots itself by water courses."

Gimli began to walk more swiftly, and soon they stood by a small river. To their delight, on its bank they found Arod grazing. Indeed, Gimli was so happy that he petted the horse awkwardly. Arod snorted in astonishment, and Legolas grinned. "Hey," Gimli protested indignantly. "Here I am trying to befriend this creature, and don't neither of you appreciate my efforts."

Legolas only laughed merrily, and after a moment Gimli, too, was chuckling.

The two friends slaked their thirst at the river and made certain that their water skins were full. Then Gimli gathered more sticks to add to his bundle of branches. This they tied to Arod before Legolas boosted the Dwarf atop the stallion.

Resuming their journey, the two friends traveled on for a few more hours before the sun began to set and they stopped to make camp. "I suppose," said Gimli, "that we had better take turns keeping watch tonight. I reckon you are right: the fall of Sauron did not lead to the destruction of all that is evil—and I'd druther not that a warg be the first face I see in the morning!"

"Of course I am right," Legolas proclaimed loftily and then ducked when Gimli feinted knocking him on the noggin with the flat of a throwing axe. Laughing again, the Elf volunteered to take the first watch. Of course, he had no intention of waking Gimli for the second watch. The Sinda could easily stay up all night and rest the following day whilst riding on Arod, his mind in that peculiar elven state that allowed him to dream but at the same time remain alert to danger.

Gimli rolled himself in his blanket and was immediately asleep. Gimli had never been subject to insomnia. The Dwarf was, on the other hand, a prodigious snorer, and almost at once his rhythmic rumblings filled the night air. 'If I had to rely upon my ears alone', Legolas thought to himself ruefully, 'any foe would have an easy time creeping up on us'.

Fortunately, the Elf did _not_ have to rely solely upon his sense of hearing. As he fed twigs to the small campfire, he sensed that something was drawing near. Somehow Legolas knew that it was neither Elf nor Man, but what it was, he could not make out.

Legolas moved back from the campfire, for he did not want to make himself an easy target. For a moment he considered extinguishing the blaze, but he rejected the notion after a moment's reflection. 'If I snuff out the fire', he said to himself, 'I will alert whoever—or whatever—is out there that I am aware of its presence'. The Elf hoped that the lurker would draw near unwitting of the fact that it had been discovered. 'If it be a foe', Legolas thought, 'I must lure it within striking distance'.

Legolas sat perfectly still, his bow resting on the ground near to hand. At last he perceived—almost sensing rather than seeing—a dark shape. Hardly visible in the dim light of the few stars not obscured by clouds, the creature inched toward the campfire. 'It walks upon two feet', the Elf said to himself, 'and it is shorter than a Man, but thinner than a Dwarf'.

Was this a human child dispossessed of home and family by the turmoil that had so lately ended? No, Legolas was already certain that the creature was no human. Yet the Elf did not feel threatened by its approach. Could it be one of the Hobbits, somehow separated from Gandalf and wandering in the wild in search of shelter and food? No, Legolas decided. The Elf knew that he had been briefly exposed in the firelight. Merry or Pippin or one of the others would have recognized him and would not have hesitated to approach the campfire.

The creature reached the light cast by the campfire and hesitated. Now Legolas could see that it—he, actually—carried no weapons. Slowly, the creature lowered himself upon the ground, sitting cross-legged. Then he spoke. "Merin aes," he proclaimed. _I would like some food_. "Saes," he added. _Please_.

Legolas startled. An Elf? How had he not sensed that the creature was an Elf? He arose and took a few careful steps toward the creature until he was able to make out his pointed ears. Eagerly, he took another step toward the creature. Perhaps, like Edenlass, this sojourner was another Sindarin waif left parentless in the wake of the late wars. Then Legolas froze, his hand shooting for his knife. The creature's ears were pointed, but his mien was that of an Orc. He was smaller than most of that race, but an Orc nonetheless.

"Bass, saes," the Orc said. _Bread, please_.

Legolas hesitated, his hand hovering over his knife. He had never heard an Orc speak Sindarin. No, that was not true. There had been another occasion when he had heard an Orc speak in the elvish tongue.

"Man eneth gîn?" Legolas asked. _What is your name?_

"Im Elvellon Gwanurion," the smallish Orc replied. _I am Elfriend son of Kinsman_. "That is what my Da called me," Elvellon added in the Common Speech. "But amongst the Orcs I was known as Albai. That means 'Elf'," he added helpfully.

"Elvellon Gwanurion," Legolas said, marveling. He stared at the Orc for several moments before remembering his manners. "Im Legolas Thranduilion," he said in a rush. _I am Legolas son of Thranduil_.

"Legolas Thranduilion," Elvellon repeated.

The two stared at each other for several more moments. At last Legolas once again broke the silence. "You are the son of Kinsman, the Orc who was fostered for a time by Estel. I never saw Gwanur after he left Rivendell. What has become of him?"

The little Orc looked sad. "My Da marched with the Orcs who went to battle an army before the Black Gates. He was a cook, not a warrior, but that did not save him, for he never returned to our camp on the plain of Gorgoroth. Only a few ever did," the Orc continued, still speaking in the Common Speech. "Those who survived limped and crawled back into camp and muttered angrily as they looked upon me. I decided I must flee or be slain. The survivors were very hungry," he added with a grimace.

Legolas shuddered, but he quickly repressed his revulsion, for he realized that he could tell Elvellon what had befallen his father. He remembered, however, that Elvellon had said he was hungry. 'Best let him eat before we speak more', he said to himself.

Legolas removed his hand from his knife and gestured toward the fire. "We have meat and elven waybread," he said. Gwanur smiled as he arose and came fully into the light. "My Da often spoke longingly of elven waybread," he said. "It is called lembas, is it not? My Da said that one small bite was enough to fill the stomach of a grown Man."

Legolas laughed at hearing his own words in the mouth of an Orc. 'How oddly things turn out', he said to himself as he removed the leaf wrapping from a piece of lembas. He broke off a portion and handed it to the Orc. Then he stirred up the fire and began to warm a strip of rabbit meat.

"Do not go to any trouble," Elvellon said. "I can eat it cold. Mind you, I won't eat raw meat, but once it has been cooked, I like it hot or cold."

"An Orc who will not eat raw meat," Legolas said dryly. "What did your companions think of that?"

"Oh, they mocked me, as they did my Da, who was likewise finicky in that fashion."

"Your father liked his food salted, too, did he not?"

"Yes," replied Elvellon, surprised. "But how did you know that?"

"I knew your father."

"Are you from Rivendell?' Elvellon said eagerly.

"I have spent time there, yes."

"Did you know a man-child named Estel?"

"Yes. Estel was my foster brother, and I have journeyed far with him."

"My Da was very grateful to Estel for saving his life. Is he well?"

"Very well. He is the King of Arnor and Gondor, and he has the joy of a loving wife who will soon give him a son."

"I am glad! My Da always hoped that things would turn out well for that little human. He was sorry to leave Rivendell, for he loved the place. Above all, he was sorry to part from Estel."

"Your father saw Estel one more time before he died."

"Did he! How did he manage that?"

Legolas took a deep breath. "Estel led the Army of the West to the Black Gates of Mordor. During the battle, a smallish Orc stepped in front of Estel and was struck down by an arrow aimed at the human. I thought it was ill-luck on the part of the Orc, but now I am certain it was not. When the Orc fell, a salt cellar rolled out of his pocket. I did not think anything of it at the time, assuming that it was a shiny bauble such as an Orc might scavenge from a looted settlement."

"My father owned a salt cellar," Elvellon said softly.

Legolas nodded. "I did find it odd," he continued, "when Estel ordered that the little Orc be afforded a burial instead of being tossed in with the Orc carcasses that were heaped in piles to be burned in the days after the battle. Still, so many odd things had happened during the previous year that I did not dwell upon the matter. Now, however, I realize that the small Orc must have been your father. Estel recognized him even if I did not, and he made certain that honor was done to him."

"How oddly things turn out," Elvellon said softly, and Legolas startled at once more hearing his own words in the mouth of an Orc. "Yes," the Elf said, recovering, "things do turn out oddly. Estel saved your father's life, and years later your father returned the favor, but at the cost of his own life. Who could have foreseen such a thing?"

As he spoke, Legolas thought of Gollum. Bilbo had spared that creature's life, and years later Gollum had accidentally repaid the favor by saving Bilbo's nephew Frodo from the malign influence of the Ring of Power. The Elf was certain, however, that Gwanur's sacrifice, unlike Gollum's, had not been an accidental one.

His thoughts were interrupted when Elvellon yawned. The Orc tried to stifle the yawn with his hand, but he could not disguise his exhaustion. Legolas picked up his blanket and proffered it. "You must rest, Elvellon."

"I do not wish to deprive you of your blanket," the Orc politely protested.

"I am comfortable in my cloak," Legolas answered. "We Elves do not suffer much from the elements. Even if we did, however, my clothes are in much better repair than yours."

"Le hannon," the Orc said gratefully.

Elvellon rolled himself in the blanket and fell asleep as quickly as Gimli had—although, Legolas observed, the Orc did not snore nearly as loudly as the Dwarf!

Resuming his watch, Legolas puzzled over what was to be done with Elvellon. He could not rejoin his former comrades. Even if they were to welcome his return—which seemed unlikely—those Orcs that had survived the battle before the Black Gates would in the end be hunted down. If Elvellon were with them, he would be slain. But where could the little Orc find sanctuary? As well-spoken and courteous as Elvellon appeared to be, it was nevertheless unlikely that Elrond would allow him to dwell in Imladris, and Lothlórien was out of the question. It had been difficult enough to introduce a Dwarf into its environs! Nor would Thranduil accept into his domain a representative of a race with which the Elves had long been at war. Neither could Legolas think of any dwarvish or human settlement that would welcome Elvellon. The Shire, too, would prove no home for an Orc. Its folk were far too insular, hardly accepting of wizards and Fair Folk, let alone goblins.

At last Legolas bethought himself of three possibilities: Elvellon might dwell with Iarwain Ben-adar and his spouse Goldberry in the valley of the Withywindle; he might take up his abode with the Beornings, the Shape-changers who had settled in the Vale of the Anduin; or he might find sanctuary in Fangorn Forest, where Legolas might be able to prevail upon Treebeard to take him under his wing—or branch, as it were.

Legolas considered and dismissed the first two possibilities. Folk who wandered into the hidden realm of Iarwain Ben-adar and Goldberry were always welcome at their table, but the two lived only for one another, and it was not to be imagined that a third party might dwell with them indefinitely. As for the Beornings, both Elves and Men traveled frequently across the Vale of the Anduin, with the Elves especially making bold to request hospitality of the Shape-changers. It was unlikely that Elvellon could remain hidden, and his safety would depend upon his remaining undiscovered.

That left Fangorn Forest and its chief resident, Treebeard. Legolas studied the sleeping Orc. His ears were indistinguishable from an Elf's. As for his face, clearly he was not one of the Fair Folk, but he was not as hideously Orcish as some of his kinsfolk. Actually, were his ears to be hidden, he could be mistaken for a misshapen Man. His nose was large and the central portion of his face looked as if it had been pulled forward. His chin receded, as did his forehead. He had prominent ridges above his eyes, what Men called 'beetling brows'. His skull was not as round as a Man's; rather, it seemed to have been stretched backward. Indeed, so elongated was it that Legolas thought that, within, his brain might have been larger than a Man's. As for his skin, he was hairier than most, but not all, Men.

Just then Elvellon yawned in his sleep, and Legolas saw that his teeth were more robust than those of most Men, his canines longer. Still, some Men had teeth like his. Truly, were his ears to be hidden, it might be possible to introduce Elvellon to Treebeard as a Man. Legolas remembered Merry and Pippin's account of their first meeting with Treebeard. The ancient Ent, who had had few encounters with the outside world, at first had mistaken them for little Orcs. It seemed that the tree herder was a little vague on the subject of the races that inhabited Middle-earth.

'And even if Treebeard recognizes Elvellon as an Orc', Legolas mused to himself, 'he may accept him nonetheless. He did not slay Merry and Pippin out of hand when he thought them to be goblins. Once his ire is raised, he can be fierce indeed, but he does not nurse his wrath. The wrong having been righted, he returns to his phlegmatic self'.

As Legolas considered the matter, he began to speculate, as he had often done before, on the origin of Orcs. One account held that they were descended from Elves who millennia ago had been captured and tortured until they had lost their souls. Legolas had lately come to doubt that story, for it was well known that an Elf tormented in body or soul had the capacity to fade. 'Any Elf captured by the Dark Lord with no prospect of escape would surrender his life rather than live on in misery', Legolas said to himself. 'He would depart to dwell in the Halls of Mandos, there to reside until such time as Namó would see fit to allow them a reunion with their kinsfolk."

Casting about for another explanation for the genesis of Orcs, Legolas remembered a story told by Erestor. According to the tutor, when Númenor fell and the survivors fled back to Middle-earth, they encountered a race of manlike creatures never before seen. The Númenóreans called these newly discovered folk Gwaindrúin, that is, New Men, and the valley in which they were found Gwaindrûlad, New Man Valley. Legolas remembered Erestor's description of the Gwaindrúin, and he suddenly realized that Elvellon had similarities to this now-vanished race: "The nose was large, and the center of the face projected forward," Erestor had intoned, "but both the chin and the forehead receded. Indeed, one might say that this folk did not possess chins. The brow ridges jutted far over the orbits of the eyes. The skull was longer than it was wide or tall. The Númenóreans called these folk New Men, but it may be that their lineage was as ancient as any of the Edain. Some Númenóreans were of the opinion that these folk were of the Second House, related to the uncouth people that we Elves know as Drúedain."

"What became of the New Men?" Legolas had asked.

Erestor shook his head. "They are a vanished race. The Númenóreans had no love for them, and they dwindled until in these days they live only in legend."

Now Legolas wondered whether the Gwaindrúin had altogether died out. 'Perhaps', he speculated, 'these folk, despised by the Númenóreans, took service with Morgoth, the enemy of the Edain, and so declined into the race of Orcs. Elvellon resembles these Gwaindrúin in all respects save for his pointed ears, but that can easily be accounted for. Two races at least beside Orcs have pointed ears—the Hobbits and the Elves. It is not impossible that there was another race with such a feature and that the Gwaindrúin mingled with them. Or it may be that the New Men entered into alliances with renegade Elves, those who were kinslayers or adherents to Melkor and so cast out from their nations'.

Then another possibility occurred to Legolas. Gimli had described a curious phenomenon observed by Dwarves as they dug deeper and deeper into the earth.

"As my people dolve, from time to time they find stones that look exactly like bones, so much so that it is the general belief that they _are_ bones, albeit mineralized. On occasion the dolvers will uncover a cache of these bones, enough remnants of a creature so that it is possible to arrive at a reasonable idea of what the creature must have looked like. Now, lad, here's a marvel for you: if you dig deep enough, you will uncover the bones of horses—but these horses will be smaller than any steeds pastured by the Rohirrim."

"Ponies, Gimli."

The Dwarf shook his head. "My folk thought that at first, but then they dug deeper and found the bones of horses even smaller than ponies. And then they dug deeper still and found even smaller bones. These were a little different from the bones in the layers above, but if you laid the smaller bones next to the larger, you would plainly see that the one set of bones was akin to the other. Eventually my kinsmen found bones that were no larger than a dog's, perhaps two feet from snout to tail tip. Had you placed the skeleton next to that of Éomer's great steed, you might not have thought that the one had any relationship to the other, but if you placed it next to a skeleton from the preceding layer, and then _that_ next to a skeleton found higher up, and on and on, well, lad, you would conclude that upon a time horse were tiny creatures and that over the eons they changed and grew. I can't account for how that would happen, lad, but there you have it."

Legolas ventured an alternative explanation for the sequence of bones. "Is it not possible," he asked his friend, "that the smaller bones were those of foals and juveniles—perhaps even the traces of fetuses that perished in the womb?"

"No good, lad. Only the small horses were found deep in the earth, never any of the larger ones. Now, why would only little horses turn to stone in the lower layers, and big horses in the upper ones? And do not forget that when an unborn babe perishes, the mother does as well. On occasion we have found the signs: the bones of a mother's pelvis still cradling those of her infant. No, I am certain that I am correct: upon a time, horses were tiny creatures, and over the ages they altered and became larger."

Legolas had grown to respect Gimli's knowledge of the earth and what lay within it. Often he had listened as Gimli read the landscape as they passed through it. "See there, lad," the Dwarf might say as they rode through a valley. "See those layers in that cliff face? Those layers tell how ancient this land is. It took eons to build up those seams. You must have observed how, year by year, silt is deposited at the bottom of a lake. Now imagine those few inches of mud multiplied by the passage of centuries. As the ages pass, the lake fills in, and the river bed shifts. Comes a day when one might never guess that there _had_ been a lake. More time passes. Comes a day when the ever-shifting waters send a stream of water across the top of the land where once the waters of a lake had lapped. Bit by bit the water course begins to cut through the layers laid down ages earlier. Let enough time pass, and that stream creates a valley such as the one that we now ride through. Took eons to build up the land; took eons to cut down through it. Middle-earth is old, very old. I reckon it was old when the first Elf set foot upon it. I know it was old when the first Dwarf did."

Trusting in Gimli's wisdom, Legolas now realized that the Dwarf's knowledge might account for the genesis of Orcs—or at least some species of them. 'If horses today are very different from horses that existed eons ago—if horses could somehow change shape and size—then why not other creatures?' he said to himself. 'Let the shape of the ears of New Men change only a little each generation, and might one not eventually arrive at pointed ears such as Elvellon's?'

This was a thought that was simultaneously fascinating, comforting, and troubling. Fascinating because Legolas was taken by the thought of Arda's creatures being formed and reformed in a fashion like unto that by which Arda itself was shaped and reshaped. Comforting because Legolas had always been horrified at the notion that Elves might have been twisted and tormented into Orcs. The alternative, that they had devolved from some other creature, was more satisfying. It was also more plausible than that the Orcs had gotten their pointed ears through interbreeding with either Elves or Periannath. Yet at the same time the notion was troubling. If the New Men had been malleable, then it stood to reason that they could have been shaped into something other than Orcs. Had the Númenóreans embraced the Gwaindrúin instead of shunning them, might they not have tended toward the good rather than the ill? Legolas thought of Frodo, who, opined Gandalf, had very nearly become Gollum. Contra, could not Gollum have become Frodo? Now an entire race was about to become extinct, and with them, whatever possibility that some members of that race might have redeemed themselves.

These melancholy reflections were at last interrupted when Gimli stirred in his sleep and snorted before reverting to his usual sonorous rhythm. Legolas studied the snoring Dwarf. 'Gimli will be taken aback when he awakes and finds an Orc in the camp', the Elf said to himself. He considered awhile and then arose and went to his pack. Removing a comb and his spare garments, he crossed over to where Elvellon lay sleeping. "Elvellon," he said softly, gently shaking the Orc's shoulder. The Orc sat bolt upright, looking alarmed. "Do not be frightened," Legolas reassured him. "Gimli and I crossed a stream a little ways yonder. Go to it. Bathe and wash and comb your hair. Discard your clothes and change into these. Hurry so that you return to the camp before the sun rises."

Taking the objects that the Elf proffered, Elvellon vanished into the darkness. A little while later, as darkness began to lift, the Orc returned clad in Legolas's spare clothing. His hair was clean and combed and his face scrubbed. He had picked up the kettle as he left the encampment, and he returned with it full. Thanking him, Legolas stirred up the fire and set about heating water for tea, a beverage that Gimli, following the lead of the Hobbits, had begun to drink (but only when beer was unavailable). When Gimli blearily opened his eyes, Legolas proffered him a tin mug in which tea leaves steeped. Grateful, the Dwarf sat up and accepted the mug, inhaling the fragrant steam. He had not yet noticed the Orc, who sat quietly behind him.

"Le hannon, Legolas," said the Dwarf between sips of the hot brew.

"You must thank not me but Elvellon, who fetched the water."

"Elvellon?"

Legolas gestured, and Gimli turned to where the Orc sat cross-legged, his hands folded quietly in his lap. His ears were covered by his combed hair, and he smiled slightly, keeping his lips closed. Gimli studied him, perplexed. 'He is dressed like an Elf, but he looks like a poor specimen of a man', Gimli said to himself. 'Howsomever, he did fetch the water, and that's what matters'. Aloud, he said, "Thank you, my friend."

"Glass nín le buio," replied Elvellon. _It is my joy to serve you_.

"Oh, so you _are_ a sort of Elf," the Dwarf exclaimed.

"Gimli," Legolas said quickly, "like you, Elvellon knows a few words of Sindarin. However, he is in fact a Gwaindrû, a New Man."

"A New Man? Have his people just sprung into being, then?"

"No, their lineage is ancient. They were, however, new to the people who named them."

"Where have they been all this while? _I_ have never encountered one before."

"Nor had you ever encountered a Hobbit before attending the Council of Elrond. You must allow, Gimli, that Middle-earth is a very big place, and much must remain undiscovered by any one person."

"True." Gimli turned again to Elvellon. "You are a traveler like us. Where do you journey?"

"I have been dispossessed," Elvellon said softly. "I do not know where I shall go next."

"Ah," the Dwarf said sympathetically. "Dispossessed. We Dwarves have some experience with that condition. You should go to Fangorn Forest. I'm afraid it does have a lot of trees, but that's a forest for you—rife with that sort of thing. We are traveling that way ourselves, so you could fall in with us. You will be safer than if you traveled on alone."

"That is an excellent idea, Gimli," Legolas said.

"_Of course_ it is an excellent idea," Gimli said cheerfully. "_I_ thought of it."

Legolas knew it was not necessary to tell Gimli that the Elf had thought of it _first_, so he smiled agreeably and sent Elvellon a wink when the Dwarf wasn't looking. As was his usual practice, the Elf had gotten what he wanted without argument. Also his custom, he had told no untruths. Clad in fresh garments, with his dreadlocks combed out and his face washed, Elvellon could indeed be described as a 'new man'.

The peculiar trio of Elf, Dwarf, and Orc breakfasted on bread, cheese, and cold meat, and Gimli, by way of welcoming their new friend, broke out a flagon of ale that he had been keeping in his pack against just such an emergency—the Dwarf defining 'emergency' rather broadly. As they ate, Elvellon was vague in answer to Gimli's questions about his kinsfolk, but the Dwarf, as usual, was ready to talk about his own people and so supplied any deficiencies in the conversation. (It also helped that Gimli drank the greatest share of the ale.)

Breakfast having been concluded, the three broke camp. As they could not all be mounted upon Arod, Legolas insisted that Elvellon and Gimli ride. "I have the longest legs," Legolas observed, "and I can easily keep pace. We will make the swiftest time in this fashion," he added quickly when Elvellon began to protest.

And so, had any observer been present, he would have seen a most peculiar sight: a Dwarf holding the reins of a Rohan horse, behind him an Orc, his arms flung round the Nauga's waist, and loping alongside the steed, a Sinda prince, holding his bow loosely in his hand. Truly, even Gandalf, who had striven to forge a Fellowship of different races, could never have foreseen how well his plan would succeed.


	60. Chapter 60: Orc and Orchard

**My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers of Chapter 59: **_**guardyanangel, Pghj2005, Ne'ith5, L.A.H.H, and CAH.**_** Also, thanks to **_**Caelhir **_**for reviews of Chapters 33 and 47, **_**CharlotteBurke**_** for a review of Chapter 36, **_**kissfromarose9 **_**for a review of Chapter 13, **_**Maglore Makalure **_**for a review of Chapter 8, **_**Muse10 **_**for a review of Chapter 15, and **_**Sailor Silvanesti **_**for reviews of Chapters 3 and 9. **

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit **_**and**_** The Lord of the Rings**_**. The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as **_**The Silmarillion**_**. **

**Beta Reader: I did not ask for a beta reading for this rather long chapter. If, as I hope, I resume regular posting to Parallel Quest, I will start sending drafts to my beta reader.**

**Vocabulary (unless immediately translated in text)**

Friðuswiþ—Peace Strength (Old English female name)

Gehǽl, fréond—Greetings, friend (Old English)

Gwanur—Kinsman (Sindarin; name given by Estel to the little orc he adopted in the story "Kinsman")

Mín ærn is néah—My dwelling is near (Old English)

Mín sceort nama is Geléaflic—My short name is Faithful (Old English)

**Chapter** **60: Orc and Orchard**

Resisting the urge to raise his axe, Gimli looked up apprehensively at the trees that towered above him. Fangorn Forest was as he remembered it: dim and dreary, its branches draped with tangled vines that made the dwarf think of the dreadlocks that sprouted from the scalps of orcs. He shuddered. Legolas glanced down at him, grinning. "Come, friend Gimli," he said mischievously. "You are not cold, are you?"

Gimli glared at his cheerful companion. "I reckon you won't be smirking when one o' them huorns comes strolling out from behind a tree."

"Those."

"What?"

"Those huorns."

"Don't you be correctifying my grammar!" Gimli had gone from glaring to glowering.

"I promise not to correctify your grammar," Legolas said. "But I will correct it," he added playfully.

Gimli feinted a blow with his axe. A low rumble came from the nearest tree, and the dwarf dropped the axe as if he had cut his own fingers.

"Tell the tree I mean it no harm," he appealed to Legolas.

The elf laid his hand on the trunk and murmured something in elvish. The tree subsided. Gimli exhaled and cautiously picked up his axe, careful to hold it low, its head down.

Watching the two, Elvellon smiled. 'So different they are, yet such good friends', he thought to himself. Unconsciously, he sighed. He had never had a friend, and he expected he never would.

Ahead of him, Legolas still had his palm on the tree. He seemed to be listening intently. At last he dropped his hand, nodding in comprehension. "Treebeard is still at Isengard," he said to Gimli. "We must go there."

The dwarf perked up. "Reckon there is still some salted pork in Saruman's storehouses?"

"The hobbits have probably already visited Isengard in company with Gandalf," Legolas reminded him. Gimli grimaced. "Like as not they have finished off the pork," he said gloomily. "Pipe weed, too," he added.

"Still, they may have left the turnips," Legolas offered helpfully.

"Turnips give me wind," the dwarf said sadly.

"Is there a food that _doesn't_ give you wind, Gimli?"

"Ripe meat off the bone," the dwarf replied promptly.

Before Legolas had a chance to retort, Elvellon stepped forward. "Nad no ennas," he said softly. _Something's out there_. Legolas looked at him respectfully. The New Man had the senses of a tracker.

"Man cenich?" he asked, speaking equally softly. _What do you see?_

"It may be one of the huorns that Gimli fears so."

Through the trees Legolas glimpsed a bole breaking free of the earth, its gnarled roots bending like toes. The limb advanced stiffly and rooted itself in the earth before a second bole broke free of the soil and lurched forward. The two boles converged a dozen feet above the ground, and above their crotch towered the rest of the trunk. From a thickening of the trunk, two limbs jutted out, one to either side and each sporting fingerlike branches near its tip. Above this 'shoulder' was a protuberance in which Legolas could make out the landmarks of a face—an opening that sported peg-like teeth, a small knot in which were set nostrils, and two orbs that gravely surveyed the travelers as the woody creature continued its slow advance toward them. Gimli began to raise his axe. "No!" Legolas said softly but urgently. "Lay it down!"

Reluctantly Gimli obeyed, bending down to place his battle-axe upon the ground, but when the dwarf straightened, Legolas saw that his hand was upon one of the throwing axes that the Nauga wore in his belt. Legolas gave his friend a warning look and then stepped forward to greet the entish creature. "Mae govannen," he said, inclining his head respectfully.

The creature came to a halt and steadily regarded him but said nothing.

"Well met," Legolas tried again in the Common Speech. Still the creature said nothing. "More a huorn than an ent', Legolas said to himself. 'Still, I must try to make our intentions known'. He tried the language of Rohan. "Gehǽl, fréond," he said politely, bowing more deeply this time. To his relief, the woody creature inclined its head slightly.

"Wé cépaþ Isengard," Legolas continued in simple but clear Rohirric. "Wé ǽrendiaþ tó Fangorn." _We seek for Isengard. We carry news to Fangorn_.

Again, the woody creature inclined its head. Encouraged, Legolas went. "Mín nama isLegolas." _My name is Legolas_. He pointed at Gimli and then Elvellon. "Hira naman sind Gimli ond Elvellon." _Their names are Gimli and Elvellon_.

The creature again inclined his head, and then, to Legolas's surprise, he spoke. "Mín sceort nama is Geléaflic," he said slowly, drawing out each syllable.

"Faithful," said Legolas. "Your short name is Faithful."

Another inclination of the head. Then Geléaflic raised a limb and pointed. "Mín ærn is néah," he said.

Legolas turned to Gimli and Elvellon. "He says that his dwelling is nigh," he explained.

"That's nice," Gimli said nervously. "I'm glad he shan't have far to walk."

"Nor will we have far to walk," Legolas said soothingly. Above him he heard a rustling sound. The travelers looked up. Geléaflic's branches were trembling as the woody creature shook spasmodically. Legolas suspected he was laughing. Apparently Gimli did, too. Suddenly he bent down and picked up his axe defiantly. "All right," he harrumphed. "Let's see this 'ærn' of his."

More rustling, and then Geléaflic lifted a bole free of the soil and slowly pivoted. Moving at a deliberate pace that seemed slow even to Gimli, he led them to his dwelling, a dell sheltered by trees whose branches met overhead to form an arch. Elvellon looked about the glade appreciatively. "This is a beautiful place," he said reverently. Elvellon spoke in Sindarin, but Legolas could tell that Geléaflic understood that he had uttered a compliment. The tree creature's mouth turned up a little, and he bowed to the New Man.

At one end of the dell water bubbled from a spring. Geléaflic led them there and pointed to a bowl filled with liquid. "No beer," Gimli said sadly, eying the bowl.

"Merry and Pippin told us that an ent-draught is a refreshing beverage," Legolas said. "Do you not remember?"

"Is that an ent-draught or a huorn-draught?" Gimli demanded. "They might be altogether different beverages."

"I have not heard that huorns speak," Legolas replied. "I think that our friend is indeed a tree-herder."

More rustling. Legolas began to suspect that Geléaflic knew more of the Common Speech than he had let on—and perhaps some Sindarin as well.

Elvellon had been eying the vessel as Gimli and Legolas spoke. "Water is the finest of beverages," he said. He bent down, picked up the bowl, and raised it to his lips. He took a long draught. "It is the best water I have ever tasted!" he exclaimed as he lowered the bowl from his lips and offered it to Legolas. "Its flavor is like that of wild mint, and its scent is piney. It is very refreshing!"

Legolas eagerly accepted the vessel and sipped from it. "Yes," he agreed when he lowered the bowl. "It rivals miruvor in its invigorating effects." He handed the bowl to Gimli, who accepted it reluctantly. The dwarf took a tiny sip, and his skeptical expression immediately vanished. "Excellent!" he cried. He gulped down the remaining contents in the bowl, belched, and wiped his arm across his mouth. "Any more?" he asked hopefully.

Geléaflic shook with his leafy laughter and pointed to a row of jars in one corner of the dell. "Drink as much as you wish, Master Axe," he said in the Common Speech, thereby proving that he understood the language, as Legolas had begun to suspect.

"Why did you pretend at first that you could not understand me?" he asked the tree shepherd later that day.

"You were two-legged folk bearing arms—and among them an axe, a weapon a woody creature must guard against," Geléaflic replied. "I wished to learn more of you before I revealed too much of myself. Now, it is true that you and the axe-bearer looked familiar. I believed I had seen you with Gandalf when he came with a party of folk to Isengard after the defeat of that wretched wizard Saruman. Still, one cannot be too careful. Saruman's power is much reduced, but he is still dangerous, and some of his creatures escaped the wreck of Isengard and roam these woods wreaking vengeance upon the plants and animals and any folk unlucky enough to fall into their clutches."

Legolas nodded his understanding. "You are wise," he said, "and I do not resent your cautious reception of myself and my friends."

Legolas, Gimli, and Elvellon remained a fortnight with Geléaflic. Every day the tree shepherd would take them to different parts of the forest and point out its features. One day he would show them a limpid pool fringed with water mint. Another day he would reveal the hiding places of spotted fawns that lay perfectly quiet in the midst of the undergrowth as their mothers foraged, their safety dependent upon stillness and camouflage. Yet another time he would guide them to a spot where a rill tumbled over mossy boulders to create a waterfall in miniature. After several days Gimli one morning reluctantly admitted that the forest "had its points." This confession led to another bout of leaf laughter on the part of Geléaflic. "I am glad, Master Axe," he said when his branches had ceased trembling, "that you do not find my home as unpleasant a place as it seemed to you at first glance."

"Second glance," Gimli corrected. "Remember I had come here formerly in search of two Hobbits."

"Yes, and you remained for one night—hardly enough time to strike up an acquaintance with any of the trees hereabouts."

"No, I reckon not," Gimli conceded.

Gimli had taken several days to admit that Fangorn was not so unpleasant a place, but Elvellon was not so tardy in declaring his appreciation for the forest with its trees dressed in moss-velvet and festooned with vine laceries. From the beginning he murmured gently at the saplings and hailed the mature trees as if they were his old friends.

"His features are not very elflike," Geléaflic observed at the end of the fortnight. "Save for those ears of his," the ent added, "which he is at pains to keep covered—also not very elflike of him."

Legolas was a trifle alarmed that the tree shepherd had caught a glimpse of the pointed ears that Elvellon had in common not only with elves but with orcs. His concern faded, however, as the ent continued to speak. "Yet his behavior," the tree shepherd said, "is very elven. He is on the best of terms with the trees, hereabouts—even the skittish ones who have had unpleasant encounters with orcs. Has he perchance had charge of an orchard?"

Legolas replied that Elvellon had not had that pleasure.

Geléaflic gazed thoughtfully at Elvellon. "I thought him somewhat ugly when I first laid eyes upon him," said the ent. "But," he continued, "his appearance has improved these past several days."

Legolas studied Elvellon, who was deep in conversation with a tree that had suffered a lightning strike and had hitherto been inconsolable. Geléaflic was right, Legolas realized. Elvellon's features _had_ altered. Save for his ears and his robust teeth, he looked like a plain-featured man—not handsome, but not ugly, neither. Legolas also suddenly realized that Elvellon had grown taller. Orcs were not tall, and Elvellon had been short even for a goblin, only a little taller than Gimli. Now, however, he came up to Legolas's shoulder.

The elf suspected that Elvellon's transformation could be laid to the ent draughts that the New Man had imbibed over the past fortnight. Merry and Pippin had grown taller after drinking the draughts, and so, too, had Elvellon; and his features had proved to be malleable as he had grown in height.

Geléaflic was still speaking. "Elvellon was not of your party when you came to Isengard with Gandalf."

"True," agreed Legolas. "He joined us only recently."

"Will he remain with you?"

Legolas hesitated. "We had thought to bring him to Isengard," he said slowly, "where he might serve Treebeard in some capacity. There is man-work to be done there: repairing walls and suchlike."

"Isengard is a ring of iron and stone," said Geléaflic. "I reckon Elvellon would be happier in the company of green creatures. If you would not object, I shall make the lad a proposition. Two days from here, in man-paces, is an apple grove. Saruman's slaves drove away the homesteaders who once tended it, and its trees have grown wild and wary. I believe, though, that Elvellon could win their trust and make that grove fruitful again. He should then make an excellent living trading the apples to the Rohirrim for grain and other necessities. Does this plan seem wise to you, Master Elf?"

"It is an excellent plan," Legolas said gratefully, his fears for Elvellon at an end. He would advise Elvellon to wear a cap to cover his ears; in all other respects, the New Man's altered appearance should allow him to safely trade with the Rohirrim. It is true that his teeth were larger than those of most men, especially his canines, but as Elvellon was not in the habit of smiling excessively, Legolas had great hopes that this fact might escape notice until such time as Elvellon had gained the trust of the Rohirrim, who would then be willing to overlook the peculiarity as of a piece with crossed eyes and clubbed feet—undesirable traits but no reason to shun the men afflicted with them.

"I am glad we are agreed," Geléaflic was saying. "I am very old, and my limbs part from the soil with great reluctance. I should be glad if I could relinquish responsibility for that apple orchard and confine my rambles within a smaller compass."

That evening Geléaflic and Legolas broached the subject to Elvellon, and the New Man forgot all about his teeth and grinned widely. Legolas tried to surreptitiously signal to him that he should cover his mouth, but Geléaflic shook with his leafy laughter. "You did well to rescue this little orc," the tree-herder chuckled, and then he shook even more at Legolas's look of surprise. "You think I did not know, Master Elf," he said jovially. "I am a tree shepherd, and the signs I must watch for are very subtle—the unfolding of a fiddlehead, the emergence of mushrooms through leaf windrows, the fruiting of moss, the slow turning of a leaf toward the sun. I marked the look of alarm upon your face—brief though it was—when I commented upon Elvellon's ears. Your expression confirmed the suspicions I had had from our first meeting."

At Geléaflic's words, Legolas began to wonder whether Elvellon would indeed be able to trade amicably with the Rohirrim. Elvellon was of the same mind. Elf and New Man exchanged worried glances. Geléaflic guessed at their fears. "Nay, you need have no apprehensions. Remember that I met Elvellon before he had quaffed the invigorating draughts brewed from the waters of this forest. He looks very unlike his former self. Remember, too, that the men of Rohan are not a subtle as Ents. I warrant they will not recognize the signs of your descent."

"I do have pointed ears," Elvellon pointed out.

"Yes, and so do elves and hobbits," Geléaflic replied. "Why would the Rohirrim think of orcs upon meeting you? Indeed, they are very unlikely to do so, for 'orc' and 'orchard' are an unlikely pair."

Legolas nodded. "Geléaflic is right, Elvellon. Your ears will not signify."

"I did not say they would not signify, Master Elf," Geléaflic demurred. "Indeed, they will be to Elvellon's advantage. He should let drop hints that he has some connection with the Fair Folk."

"My father did spend time in the company of elves," Elvellon said thoughtfully.

"Excellent! Then all you need do is talk vaguely of that fact. The Rohirrim will assume that your family tree has an elf perched upon a branch, hence the pointed ears. The disproportionate teeth they will put down to the odd mingling of human traits with elven ones. 'No doubt', they will say, 'his skull is elven but his teeth human, making the latter look oversize'."

Elvellon grinned unselfconsciously, showing his teeth, for since Geléaflic knew his secret, there was no longer need for disguise. "I like your plan, Master Geléaflic," he laughed joyously. "Likely it _will_ work."

"Only _likely_?" retorted Geléaflic. "Hmph! Small praise, that."

But the tree shepherd shook with laughter as he pretended to complain, and Elvellon, likewise laughing, scampered off to bid good night to a stand of evergreens that had become his favorites, for their good humor was as enduring as their needles. Elvellon had after all been wrong when he had despaired of ever finding friends, for in two short weeks these trees had come to joy in his company, raising their boughs in greeting whenever he approached.

The next day Legolas and Gimli said goodbye to the ent and the New Man. "When I pass this way again," Legolas said to Elvellon, "I shall look forward to slabs of apple pies, and I shall toast your health with apple cider. And if you keep drinking those ent draughts, I believe we shall see eye to eye! Have a care that you do not grow so tall as to be continually bumping your head against branches!"

Legolas, Gimli, and Elvellon walked to the meadow where Legolas's horse had been grazing. The elf sprang upon the horse, and Elvellon boosted Gimli up behind him. "Go well!" called the New Man as Legolas urged the steed into a trot. "Stay well," called Legolas, looking over his shoulder. He smiled as he saw a tree lower a limb and affectionately tousle Elvellon's hair. "He will be very happy here," Legolas said.

"Aye, and safe, too. No one will ever guess that he was once an orc."

"You knew?" said Legolas.

"Of course I knew. I have the eyes of an eagle—"

"—and the ears of a fox," concluded Legolas. "Why did you say nothing?"

"Because you wanted to believe that Elvellon could move amongst folk unremarked, and I did not want to disabuse you of that notion. Happens in the end that you were right, so I am glad I said nothing that would have left you troubled in mind."

"Thank you, Gimli," Legolas said gratefully. "You are very kind."

"Not as kind as you. You are a regular waif-magnet."

"A waif-magnet?"

"Aye. As the lodestone draws iron, you draw the orphaned and dispossessed, so that you might conjure up folk and families for the luckless ones. I had thought that the wounds of Middle-earth might be healed by the rebuilding of walls, but it is plain that you build a foundation greater than any I have ever laid."

This was a grander speech than Gimli was accustomed to give, and, a little embarrassed, the dwarf concluded it by clearing his throat and complaining about the dust. "This horse does kick up a great deal of soil," he muttered. "Gets in your eyes and throat, it does."

Legolas smiled, and the two rode in silence for a while. 'I believe Gimli is right', Legolas considered. 'I _am_ a waif-magnet—but Gimli is not taking credit for his _own_ kindness toward folk uprooted by the war'. Legolas recalled how Gimli had vouched for Peter the Stonemason, the Southron soldier captured before the gates of Minas Tirith who had been allowed to settle in the city with his family. Then they had encountered Edenlass the New Leaf, who had later been taken in hand by Edwen Nana and who was now doubtless clad entirely in garments lovingly embroidered by the nursemaid. Next they rescued the infant survivor of a family massacred by brigands. Legolas smiled tenderly at the memory of how Gimli had nursed the infant, holding her in his lap as she sucked on a rag soaked in broth. They had named her Míriel—'Sparkling Jewel'—and Legolas remembered how wistfully Gimli had looked on as they entrusted her and the kitten Gamp to another waif they had encountered: Godcild, who had been driven from Edoras because folk believed him the bastard son of Gríma Wormtongue. And now there was Elvellon, whom they had briefly adopted before relinquishing him to the care of Geléaflic. Gimli had shown his kindness by holding his tongue, thus allowing the New Man a chance to prove himself.

"I hope we shall see the most of them again," Gimli said suddenly, breaking the silence.

"I am sure we shall," Legolas assured his friend. "On the return journey to Ithilien, we shall turn aside to Edoras and see how Godcild and Míriel are getting on."

"And Gamp," the Dwarf reminded him.

"Gamp, too," agreed Legolas smiling. "And we shall surely see Edenlass again, for he will be at Ithilien under the care of Eden Nana."

"I hope she does not try to keep him all to herself," Gimli said truculently. "He was _our_ elf first!"

Legolas laughed. "Edwen Nana has always been quick to share her blessings—and as Edenlass is a blessing, I am sure she will share _him_."

"She had better," Gimli muttered darkly. "But what of Elvellon? Shall we not see him again?"

"I hope that we shall," Legolas said. "But," he added merrily, "to do so will require another visit to Fangorn Forest."

"If that is the only way to see the lad again, I shall not complain," said Gimli. "Much," he added.

Legolas laughed again. "I should be very gratified indeed if you did not complain _much_," he chuckled.

Gimli was as good as his word when, twelve years later, they returned to the region of Fangorn where they had parted from Elvellon. Indeed, he was better than his word, for he complained not at all. "Mushrooms grow well in suchlike places," he announced, looking about at the moss-covered trees, "Never had time to look for 'em afore." The dwarf began to eagerly scan the ground. Before too long he gave out a shout. The two friends dismounted and gathered up several handfuls of hedgehog mushrooms. Then Legolas spied some ox tongue mushrooms growing on the side of a tree, and they broke off three of those. Later that evening they stopped for a very satisfying dinner, flavoring their stew with the fresh fungi.

"Lovely place, this forest," Gimli enthused.

"I have heard it said," Legolas laughed, "that the way to a dwarf's heart is through his stomach."

"You have heard wrong, lad. The proverb goes thus: the way to a _man's_ heart is through his stomach."

"And no doubt," Legolas returned, "among men it is said that the way to an _elf's_ heart is through his stomach."

"No, I am sure all folk know that the way to an elf's heart is through his ears, for elves love song beyond anything else. Sing us a song, Legolas."

Gimli would never admit it to anyone but Legolas, but the dwarf had become mightily fond of elven ballads and lays. Bilbo himself would have been hard put to match the dwarf's enthusiasm.

"What would you have me sing, Gimli?" Legolas replied obligingly.

"Sing of the love of Beren and Lúthien," Gimli answered promptly.

Legolas smiled. Gimli loved the Lay of Lúthien above all other songs.

"Tinúviel elvanui," he sang,  
"Elleth alfirin ethelhael  
O hon ring finnil fuinui  
A renc gelebrin thiliol."

_Tinúviel the elven-fair,  
Immortal maiden elven-wise,  
About him cast her night-dark hair,  
And arms like silver glimmering._

Gimli sighed happily. He could understand many of the words, for he also had been emulating Bilbo's mastery of Sindarin—again something that he would admit to no one but Legolas. "Aragorn and Arwen are very like Beren and Lúthien," he murmured. "But with a happier ending," he added hastily.

Legolas frowned. Death for the lovers would be the ending of both stories.

Gimli was looking at the fire and did not catch Legolas's sad expression. "Each lover was of a different race," he prattled cheerfully. "Yet this was no barrier to their love. Encouraging, that. Peace. Harmony. That sort of thing."

Gimli had a sudden inspiration. "Why, Legolas," he exclaimed, "that lay could be about us. _We_ are of different races, and _we_ get on very well indeed. Beren and Lúthien have nothing on _us_."

The dwarf turned bright red as soon as he had uttered these words. "Of course, we don't love each other. I mean, we love each other, but we don't _love_ each other. I mean—"

Legolas burst into laughter, his sorrow momentarily forgotten. "I understand what you mean. We love one another as brothers—we are Merry and Pippin."

"Or Sam and Frodo," Gimli resumed gaily. "And it don't make no never mind that you are an elf and I a dwarf."

"True," agreed Legolas. "I have," he added mischievously, "forgiven you for that."

Gimli spluttered in mock anger. Seizing a handful of leaves, he rubbed them into Legolas's hair. "There," he said triumphantly. "Now we have even more in common."

Smiling, Legolas picked leaf fragments from his hair as Gimli washed the dishes in a nearby stream. Then the elf sang a few more stanzas of the Lay of Lúthien until he heard Gimli snore. 'What would my father say if he heard me singing bedtime songs to a dwarf', the elf chuckled as he allowed himself to drift into sleep. He sensed that Geléaflic was nearby, and he knew there was no need to set a watch.

The next morning the travelers found that during the night the tree shepherd had planted himself at the edge of the small clearing in which they had camped. "Good morning, Master Elf," the ent proclaimed. "Good morning, Master Axe. You have returned most swiftly!" Ents, of course, take the long view, perhaps even more so than elves, who seem childlike to the tree shepherds.

"How have you fared, Geléaflic?" Legolas replied. "And your forest, how fares it? Well, I hope."

"Very well, indeed," Geléaflic answered. "Hereabouts men do not come bearing axes."

"Is there a reason for this most fortunate development?" Legolas asked.

"You know that there is. Your Elvellon has taken prodigious good care of the apple orchard. Not only that, but he has sought out all the nut-bearing trees and the fruit-laden bushes and the spots where mushrooms grow abundantly. These he does not hoard! He shares his knowledge freely, and men are now accustomed to collecting foodstuffs from Fangorn Forest. I tell you that they have become quite disinclined to cut down the trees to which they are indebted. Very clever, that New Man of yours."

"We should very much like to see him again," Gimli said eagerly.

"And so you shall, Master Axe. Will you spend a few days with me first? I should like to hear the news from afar. Elvellon gives me the news of Rohan, for he gleans much from the men who come to trade for his apples. But you have journeyed even further than Edoras, I warrant."

Legolas and Gimli gladly accompanied the tree shepherd to his dwelling, where they feasted on mushrooms washed down with long swallows of the invigorating beverage brewed by the ent. They remained with the tree shepherd three days, regaling him with tales of Gondor and other lands, and at the end of that time Geléaflic took them to the trail that would bring them to Elvellon's orchard. Before they left, at Geléaflic' request they strapped a jar to their horse. "Elvellon always asks that I send him of my brewing whenever I have an opportunity," the ent told the travelers.

Legolas was glad that Geléaflic and the New Man had maintained their friendship. "It is good that Elvellon enjoys your companionship," the elf said to the tree shepherd. "Else he should be very lonely when the traders have returned to their homes."

"Oh, I do not think so," murmured Geléaflic, the woody scales of his face crinkling into a slight smile. "I do not think he is lonely at all."

"Must be a self-sufficient sort," commented Gimli as they rode away. "Used to being on his own, and all."

Legolas agreed that Gimli was likely right.

Geléaflic had told them that the orchard was two-days distant in man-paces, but horsed as they were, they arrived by noon the following day, having journeyed one day and camped one night. As they passed through row after row of well-tended apple trees, they heard the laughter of children.

"The traders must bring their children with them," said Gimli. "Good sign, that, for they should not bring young ones if they did not trust Elvellon."

But as they pulled up before Elvellon's cottage, they saw no wagons even though three children—twin boys of about nine and a girl two years' younger—played in the swept yard. The young ones paused in their play to shout greetings to the travelers. As they did so, the door opened and a woman stepped outside. By her side walked a boy of about five, and after her toddled another little boy, his 'blankie' clutched in tiny fist. The woman was very pregnant.

"Do you mark," Gimli whispered, "that the children's ears are slightly pointed."

"Aye, I do," Legolas whispered back. He was trying very hard not to grin as he greeted the woman.

"Mistress, we are in search of Elvellon the Apple Master. Is this his dwelling?"

"Aye, Master Elf, but my husband is not to home. You are welcome to come in to wait for his return."

"We did not see him as we rode through the orchard," said Legolas.

"Oh, the apple orchard is but one of the groves he tends," the woman said proudly. "My husband has planted plums, peaches, and pears. It is in the pear orchard that he works today. Now do dismount and come inside. I was about to call the children in for the noon meal, and you must join us."

Legolas and Gimli dismounted and entered the cottage, which was in very good repair. Legolas could no longer contain his grin as the woman addressed the twins. "Estel! Gwanur!" she called. "You and Arwen must wash the dust from your hands."

Obediently, the three older children went to the dry sink, and Gwanur poured water from the ewer into a bowl. Meanwhile, with a damp cloth the woman wiped the hands and faces of the two younger children. "Legolas never fusses when he is washed," she said of the four year old. "But Gimli," she said making a grab for the toddler, who was trying to crawl under the table, "will do anything to get out of bathing."

"Sensible child," Gimli said. "It is said that every child must eat a peck of dirt. Your little Gimli must be prodigiously clever to understand that at such a young age." The dwarf shot a smug look at Legolas, who raised his eyebrows in a creditable imitation of an exasperated Elrond.

The meal was excellent. Elvellon shared the riches of Fangorn with the men of Rohan, but he made sure to harvest its bounty for his own kinsfolk, too. They and their guests enjoyed a savory dish of venison stewed with mushrooms and ate potatoes flavored with the leeks that grew in the open spaces of the forest. Baked from flour traded from the Rohirrim, the wheat bread, steaming from the oven, was thickly spread with jam made from blackberries gathered from the brambles that flourished at the margins of clearings. For desert, they had a choice of a slab of blueberry pie or a raspberry tart, both baked with fillings that, again, had been gathered from the wild bushes and briars. Faced with choosing between the two, Gimli hung fire until the woman suggested that he try both. "And then, Master Dwarf," she said politely, "you can advise me as to which is the tastier."

Gimli did try both but then pronounced himself unable to decide which was the more delicious. "Then at supper you must essay the matter again," smiled the woman. "Although at that meal you shall have to sample an apple pie as well."

That prospect was too much even for Gimli, who let out a groan and declared himself in need of a nap. The twins' room was immediately placed at the service of dwarf and elf, and the two rested quietly until they heard the door to the cottage open.

"Friðuswiþ!" came an eager voice. "In the barn is a strange horse, and on the wall is hung a headstall decorated with elven bells!"

Legolas arose and stepped into the kitchen. "Legolas!" cried Elvellon joyously. "But have you come alone?"

"Not hardly," harrumphed Gimli, who now followed Legolas into the kitchen. "You don't suppose I would let this lad gallivant about on his own. Who knows what trouble he would get into without I keep him on the straight and narrow."

Friðuswiþ was watching this exchange in amazement. "Are these, then, the two who took you in hand as you wandered homeless? You never told me your preservers were elf and dwarf."

"Their race did not seem to signify," Elvellon said, surprised to be reminded of the fact.

"No, I suppose not," agreed Friðuswiþ. "Kindness is all." She beckoned to the five-year old. "Come and greet the one whose name you bear," she said. Hesitant, the boy came to stand by her knee, and she gently propelled him toward Legolas. The elf smiled encouragingly. He reached into his pouch and drew out a gold coin. "Young Legolas, you must take this coin against the day when you are a man," he said. "Think of me on that occasion."

The boy shyly thanked the elf and then gave the coin to his mother. "Keep this for me, Ma," he said solemnly. "I want to be a gardener like Da, and he said I shall need clippers and a wheelbarrow."

Legolas was pleased that the lad showed forethought at such a young age. Gimli, meanwhile, had been making the acquaintance of his own namesake. Friðuswiþ put the toddler on his lap, and the dwarf demonstrated the same patience that he had shown twelve years earlier when he had cared for Míriel. He did not complain when the child pulled on his beard, and he said not a word when the toddler stuck his fingers in the dwarf's mouth. He did not even mutter when the child's nappy leaked, leaving Gimli with damp knees.

At last Friðuswiþ rescued the dwarf. She took little Gimli into a bedroom and laid him down for a nap. When she returned, Gimli had taken out his own purse. "The tyke must have a gold coin as well," he declared. "By the by, when it comes time for the lad to choose a craft, you might mention to him that the smithy trade is a very good one. After all, little Legolas has already settled on being a gardener, so my namesake must perforce be free to try something different. Only think! It might not even be necessary for Legolas to purchase tools if someone in the family could make them!"

Smiling, Friðuswiþ accepted the coin and set it aside with the other. Then she began to lay out the supper dishes. Arwen helped, while Gwanur fetched water and Estel brought in wood to replenish the fire. Elvellon, meanwhile, went out to the barn to see to his own stock as well as Legolas's horse, and little Legolas accompanied him.

When all had returned to the kitchen, they ate a supper that was as tasty as the noon meal had been. Gimli saved room for a raspberry tart and both a piece of blackberry pie and one of apple. "Alas," he sighed after eating all three desserts. "I must confess, ma'am, that I am still unable to determine which is the most delicious. I trust you will not hold my failure against me."

"Indeed I will not," laughed Friðuswiþ. "Shall you try again tomorrow? I could bake a peach pie."

"I think, ma'am," Gimli replied solemnly, "that if I could not decide between two nor betwixt three, then I shall do no better choosing from amongst four. I hereby confess myself to have been defeated by the excellence of your cooking."

Elvellon smiled proudly at his wife. Later that evening, while Friðuswiþ put the children to bed and Gimli went outside to smoke a pipe, the New Man told Legolas the story of how he came to marry the woman of Rohan.

"That first year," he said, "the trees bore goodly fruit even though the orchard had not been tended in several years. I filled a pack with the finest of the apples and set out on foot for a village that Geléaflic said was a four-day journey from hence. When I arrived, I presented half the apples to the village headman and prayed that he would send the other half to Edoras as a gift to King Éomer. I described where I lived, and I left, hoping that the next year the folk of that village would come seeking apples in trade. You may be sure that I kept my cap pulled low that first visit! But I peppered my speech with elvish words against the day when someone should espy my ears."

Legolas nodded approvingly.

"As I had hoped," Elvellon continued, "the next year men came with wagons and traded for the apples, carrying away some for their own village and some that they would themselves trade to people in other settlements, including folk in Edoras itself. Most of them left their families behind when they came to chaffer for fruit, but a few brought wives and children, Friðuswiþ among them. When I helped her family load their wagon, you may be sure that I put the finest fruit in her basket!"

"And your fruit bore fruit," Legolas said, smilingly.

Elvellon smiled back. "By the end of that season," he went on, "we were betrothed, and the next spring we married. By then everyone knew that my ears were pointed. I never said anything to account for that fact, but at the wedding feast I heard Friðuswiþ's father bragging that his grandchildren would have elven blood."

"Well, one of your children does have an elven godfather," Legolas pointed out, grinning.

Elf and New Man shared a laugh. Then Legolas arose. "Next time I am in Minas Tirith, Elvellon, I shall tell King Aragorn how you get on. I think Estel and Gwanur and Arwen will soon find that they have a godfather as well. Nor will your youngest be neglected. Have you given any thought as to a name?"

"If it be a boy he will be named Erestor, for my father told me of how that elf tried to protect him."

"And if it be a girl?"

"We have not yet decided."

"Ask Gimli. He is sure to have an opinion."

"Opinion about what?" demanded Gimli, who had finished his pipe and was stepping through the door.

"Elvellon was wondering what to name the baby if it should be a girl."

"Galadriel," Gimli said promptly. "It shall be the making of her if she should be named Galadriel."

Legolas and Gimli stayed a fortnight with Elvellon and his family and so had the privilege of witnessing the birth of—Erestor and Galadriel.

"Two sets of twins," marveled Gimli as he and Legolas resumed their journey. "Do you know, I think Elvellon must indeed have some elven blood in his veins. Consider your foster family. Elrond had a twin, Elros, and then Elrond himself fathered those rascal twins Elladan and Elrohir."

Legolas pointed out that it was by no means unheard of for humans to give birth to twins, and after a while Gimli reluctantly conceded that the dual sets of twins did not make it the likelier that Elvellon had distant elven ancestry. "But it don't signify whether he be part this or part that," Gimli concluded. "As Friðuswiþ said, 'Kindness is all'."

On this the elf and dwarf could agree, and with a kinship forged in friendship, the two rode on.


	61. Chapter 61: The Game Is Afoot

**My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers of Chapter 60: **_**icecubetoes, Lasette-1982, L.A.H.H, ziggy3, Pghj2005, and CAH.**_** Also, thanks to **_**Ne'ith5 **_**for reviews of Chapters 1-3 and **_**Enna Namo**_** for a review of the entire story thus far, using the link for reviewing Chapter 1. **

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit **_**and**_** The Lord of the Rings**_**. The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as **_**The Silmarillion**_**. **

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly**

**Vocabulary (unless immediately translated in text)**

**Geléaflic—Faithful (Old English)**

**Eorþward—Earth Guardian (Old English)**

**Chapter 61: The Game Is Afoot  
**

Legolas looked about, impressed. The approach to Isengard was lined by thousands of newly planted saplings.

"Treebeard and his folk have done a great work," he said. "Someday Isengard will be a tiny clearing in the midst of a mighty forest."

"Do you suppose they have restocked the larders as well," Gimli said eagerly.

Legolas smiled and shook his head. "The ents have no interest in salted pork and beer," he laughed. "Although," he added, "I am very sure that ent draught will be on tap."

Gimli suddenly found that he was beginning to tire of that beverage. "A dwarf cannot live on water alone," he grumbled.

"Would a cony meet your approval?" Legolas asked merrily. "I have seen signs of them hereabouts."

"Rabbit!" Gimli exclaimed. "Rabbit! Yes, that would be substantial-like."

"Then let us camp here. I will hunt, and you will feast. Afterward I shall bathe in that stream yonder, and tomorrow the both of us will enter Isengard in excellent humor."

"You bathed at a stream yesterday," Gimli observed as he slid from their mount. "And as you, unlike Aragorn, do not seem to attract dirt, I do not see why you need bathe again. Someday you will catch your death getting all over wet in these icy waters."

"Have you not often complained," Legolas replied, "that Arod kicks up dust?"

"Oh, dust," Gimli said dismissively. "Dust is not filth! Indeed, a good layering of dust protects one from sunburn. And mud," he added, "is even more protective. Encase me in mud, and I snap my fingers at midges."

"I am not troubled by midges," Legolas replied as he examined his bow.

"No doubt because you are too insubstantial a target," Gimli shot back.

Legolas merely smiled. Satisfied as to the state of his bow, he set off in search of a cony, leaving Gimli to erect their tent. Usually they slept under the stars, but tonight it threatened to rain. Legolas knew that when he returned Gimli would be cursing at tangled tent cords, but the dwarf always insisted that he, who could erect a stone shelter, could surely set up a cloth one. Legolas would at once set about superintending without _**appearing**_ to superintend. He would accomplish this feat by 'tripping' over various cables and then bending down to 'replace' them. "Would have this up in a trice weren't that you keep getting your feet caught in the lines," the dwarf would grumble as Legolas set the tent to rights.

Before too long, Legolas returned to the camp, and as he had expected, the tent was a muddle. He had to 'trip' a great deal before the cords were untangled and their shelter erected. That accomplished, Gimli fetched water and gathered sticks for the fire while Legolas dressed the cony. They did indeed feast that night, washing down rabbit with the ent draught with which they had filled their water skins before parting from Geléaflic, Gimli having somehow forgotten his aversion to that beverage.

The next morning they rode the rest of the way to Isengard. The outer walls, they observed, had almost entirely been pulled down, and within the former ring tidiness ruled. The wrecked platforms and engines had been hauled away, leaving behind a lake whose placid surface reflected the clouds that were scudding overhead.

"No doubt you'll be wanting to bathe in that there lake," grumbled Gimli.

Legolas looked thoughtfully at the mere. "It is pretty enough on the surface," he observed, "but it would take more than a few months to wash away the filth of Saruman. I do not believe I shall be washing in that lake!"

Gimli pretended amazement. "A body of water what you won't bathe in! I reckon the Third Age really _**has**_ come to an end!"

This banter was interrupted by the sight of Fangorn striding toward them. "Hoom! Hoom!" came the booming voice that had first greeted them after the defeat of Saruman. "Master Elf! Master Dwarf! You are both very welcome here," the ent hailed them. "Master Gandalf sends his greetings, for he supposed you would fetch up at this place by and by."

"He is gone, then?" said Legolas, disappointed.

"Aye. He and his companions did not stay long once they learned that Saruman had departed in search of better accommodations."

Beechbone had been right in his fears, thought Legolas. "Saruman has escaped, then?" he said aloud.

"No, he departed by my leave, for I would see no creature imprisoned in a gaol of iron and stone."

Legolas imagined Gandalf's chagrin at hearing this news. Treebeard looked at him knowingly. "Master Gandalf was untroubled by the news," the ent informed him. "I reckon he believes that Saruman's tale is not at an end."

Fangorn's words reminded Legolas of something he had overheard Gandalf say whilst the Fellowship had been passing through Moria. Frodo had discovered that they were being followed, and Gandalf had told the young Hobbit that it was Gollum who shadowed them. "It's a pity that Bilbo didn't kill that vile creature when he had the chance!" Frodo had whispered vehemently. Gandalf had chastised him softly but firmly. "Pity?" the wizard had said. "It was pity that stayed Bilbo's hand. Pity and mercy: not to strike without need."

Frodo sat silently. Gandalf looked hard at him, but the Hobbit avoided Gandalf's piercing gaze. After a moment, Gandalf continued. "Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them, Frodo?"

Frodo shifted, the rock upon which he sat suddenly uncomfortable.  
"My heart tells me," Gandalf mused, pretending not to notice Frodo's discomfort, "that Gollum has some part to play yet, for good or ill. Before this is over, the pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many."

'No doubt Saruman, too, has some part to play yet', Legolas thought to himself, thinking back on this incident. 'The War of the Ring is over, but its effects are still being felt throughout Middle-earth. Saruman's mistreatment of Fangorn—folk and forest—precipitated the March of the Ents upon Isengard and the March of the Huorns upon Helm's Deep. Perhaps Saruman will again unintentionally set in motion another such chain of events that will tend toward the good'.

Legolas's ruminations were interrupted by Gimli. "Master Treebeard," the dwarf was saying hopefully. "Did those hugely-hungry hobbits leave behind any provender?'

"There is ent draught aplenty," Fangorn answered. Legolas caught a mischievous glint in the ent's deep-set eyes. Gimli groaned. Fangorn gave a leafy chortle. "Gandalf rapped the hands of the two youngest hobbits when they tried to make off with the last of the provisions," he reassured Gimli. The dwarf brightened. "Hah! That will serve Merry and Pippin!" he gloated.

"I believe the point was," Legolas said, "that they were _**not**_ served."

"None of your punnery," Gimli retorted. "I'm hungry, and I don't mean to eat my words!"

Legolas raised his eyebrows. "Men have a proverb: Do I say, and not as I do. Yet you speak puns while saying that I must not pun. I am therefore at a loss how to proceed. For it seems that if I do what you say, I must do what you say I must not do."

Gimli clutched at his head. "My head hurts worse than it ever did when that Uruk-hai whanged my helmet at Helm's Deep," he groaned.

"For a dwarf, food is a great curative," Legolas said to Fangorn. The tree shepherd raised a limb and pointed at the small portion of the Ring of Isengard that still remained. There they saw a stairway at whose base water lapped. "Those steps lead to a chamber in which is a larder that escaped the flooding of Isengard," he said. "Your mount can safely carry you there, for the footing is sound. I trust that the provisions within will soon set your friend's head to rights."

Legolas thanked the ent and turned Arod's head toward the door. The water in this portion of Saruman's former redoubt was shallow, and as Fangorn had promised, the footing was sound. Soon Gimli was clambering up the steps and into the chamber of provisions. "Salted pork!" came the satisfied cry from within. "Carrots and onions and potatoes for you," the dwarf added cheekily. "Ah! Apples wrinkled but sound and cheese with the rind unbroken. No bread, but I reckon it would have gone stale months ago."

Legolas removed the saddlebags from Arod and then climbed up the steps after Gimli. Within was far from what he expected. Instead of a ransacked room, he saw food neatly stored, the barrels and boxes that had been pried open having been tightly sealed again, save for food laid out on a table, along with plates, mugs, and utensils. A note rested under a platter. Legolas laughed as he picked up the paper and recognized Frodo's handwriting. "It seems that Sam superintended as Merry and Pippin set things to rights," he explained to Gimli. The elf smiled as he imagined Sam, ladle in hand, glowering as the two youngest hobbits tidied the chamber that they had rummaged through months earlier.

"Does Frodo mention pipe weed in his letter?" Gimli asked eagerly.

"Yes, he says that Sam made his subalterns set aside some for you. Look for a small barrel labeled Longbottom Leaf."

"And beer?" Gimli inquired hopefully.

"Next to the pipe weed you will find one untapped keg."

Gimli began rummaging about and soon located both items. Legolas, meanwhile, went in search of potable water so that they might boil the potatoes and carrots. The elf did not think the water in the Ring of Isengard would be suitable for cooking no matter how hot it were heated. Outside the Ring he found a young ent who was neatly piling iron shafts and cog wheels in a sort of machine cemetery. This tree shepherd pointed Legolas toward a spring from which the ents had been fetching their own water, and Legolas returned to his friend bearing two pails of the untainted liquid. There he found that Gimli had pared the carrots and potatoes and sliced the onion and ham and cheese. Legolas kindled a fire in the stove—the hobbits had left behind a neat stack of firewood—and before too long the two friends were dining very well indeed. Salted pork was not Legolas's favorite dish, but it was not unpleasant when accompanied by carrots, onions, and potatoes. Gimli washed down his meal with beer, while Legolas contented himself with water. For dessert, the two friends nibbled on cheese and apples. Afterward, Gimli went outside to sit on the steps and smoke, and Legolas did the washing up, Gimli having promised to be responsible for that chore on the morrow.

As Gandalf was not at Isengard, Legolas and Gimli did not intend to remain long at Saruman's former stronghold. Out of courtesy to Treebeard, they spent a week in residence, politely listening to the ent's lengthy account of all that had transpired since the elf and dwarf had last been there. Fangorn repeated all his conversations with Saruman in the minutest detail, and Legolas understood how the former wizard had been able to work magic of a sort.

"Treebeard is a kind soul," he said to Gimli on the night before they departed Isengard. "He is naturally trusting and inclined to take a person at his word. Day after day Saruman made small talk of the most inoffensive sort. Convinced that Saruman was no longer dangerous, Treebeard at length allowed him to depart accompanied by his one remaining servant, Gríma Wormtongue."

"But _**you**_ don't think he is harmless," Gimli said.

"As long as Saruman has a tongue in his head, he is dangerous," Legolas said somberly.

"Shall we follow him, then?"

Legolas considered. "We will follow Gandalf," he said at last. "If Gandalf thinks it necessary, he will be following Saruman himself. So we will let our friend guide us in this matter."

Gimli thought this course of action sensible, and he cheerfully went outside to smoke a pipe before turning in. Legolas, meanwhile, sorted through the provisions, filling their saddlebags and then resealing the remaining provender into barrels and boxes as carefully as Merry and Pippin had. 'Other travelers may come after us', the elf said to himself. 'They should be glad to find the larder intact'. Gimli had already replenished the firewood by rummaging through the machine cemetery and chopping pieces of Saruman's wrecked platforms and engine casings into manageable lengths.

The next morning Gimli and Legolas shared an ent draught with Treebeard before setting out. "You are always welcome here," the tree shepherd said. "I never thought I should say that to a creature bearing an axe," he added, addressing the dwarf, "but it is plain that one can wield such a weapon in a judicious manner. If your kinsmen choose their foes as carefully as you, Master Gimli, they will always be welcome in Fangorn Forest."

"I cannot vouch for all of my kinsmen," Gimli replied. "They vary, as do folk of all races. But the most of them would not needlessly cut down a tree. Indeed, as they are a practical folk, they would not do it because there would be no profit in it!"

"If a forest may be protected by practicality, then so be," Fangorn replied. "Saruman encouraged wanton destruction, ordering that trees be hewn down and left to rot. I believe I could endure the cutting of a certain number of trees if I knew that they would be put to good use."

Bidding the ent a thoughtful farewell, Legolas and Gimli rode out of the Ring of Isengard. Once past the Ring, Legolas again marveled at the newly planted saplings. As it was early in the day, ents strode among them, watering the young trees and pulling away the briars that threatened to engulf some of them.

"Before I depart Middle-earth, I must visit this place one last time," Legolas said. "I want to see the Watchwood that Treebeard has promised to plant. It shall be as if Fangorn were restored to its former glory in the days when Arda was young."

Gimli had been humming a dwarvish tune, but at Legolas's words, he fell silent. "Before you depart Middle-earth?" he said in a small voice.

Legolas suddenly remembered his resolution not to abandon Gimli.

"That is only a figure of speech," he said hastily. "All elves use it when they mean to convey the notion that some task must certainly be performed. I cannot fail to return to Fangorn—that is all I meant."

"Oh," Gimli said quietly, but he did not sound convinced.

They rode on in silence until they paused in their journey for the noon meal. After they had finished, Gimli arose to go aside to smoke. "You needn't leave the camp," Legolas said hastily. "If you remain where you are, the breeze will take the smoke away from me. I should like to have company as I tidy up and repack our saddlebags."

Happily regaining his seat, Gimli kept up a cheerful banter between puffs of pipe weed. Soon the two friends were laughing as Legolas pretended to find shapes in the smoke that Gimli blew from his lips. "A fine oliphaunt, Gimli," the elf teased at a particularly large puff of smoke. "See, there is its trunk, and it has got four legs as stout as tree trunks."

"Hah!" exclaimed Gimli. "Pity Gandalf is not here. I defy him to create anything as impressive as that oliphaunt!"

Good humor restored on both sides, the two friends resumed their journey. Legolas had been tracking Gandalf's horse and the hobbits' four ponies. From time to time he could also make out traces of two men afoot. "I think Gandalf is indeed following in the wake of Saruman and Gríma Wormtongue," the Elf told Gimli. "Whether he can be said to be tracking them, however, is another matter. Gandalf and the hobbits are moving at a deliberate pace. I think that if Gandalf were in pursuit of Saruman, the party would be moving more swiftly."

Several days passed, with Legolas and Gimli, too, moving at a deliberate pace, as haste did not seem necessary. One day, however, Legolas saw that Gandalf and the hobbits had overtaken Saruman and Gríma. "Gimli, see how the marks of boots overlay some of the hoof prints," the elf pointed out. "Hitherto we have seen only boot marks overlaid by hoof prints. It seems that the riders came upon the walkers and they stood in parley for a time."

Gimli looked about. "I don't see no sign of a skirmish."

"No, for observe that the boot marks turn aside, whilst the hoof prints continue north. Gandalf and Saruman exchanged words, but then Saruman and Gríma were allowed to resume their journey unmolested."

"Do you suppose Saruman deceived Gandalf, as he deceived Fangorn?" Gimli asked anxiously.

"I do not think that would be possible. No, I believe that Gandalf was following advice he gave to Frodo upon a time: to show pity and mercy and not to strike without need."

"But you have said Saruman is dangerous. If Gandalf knows that as well, why does he risk allowing the villain to roam about untrammeled?"

"What are pity and mercy if they are not accompanied by risk?" Legolas replied. "Indeed, pity and mercy would be unnecessary if we were not confronted by such wretches as Saruman and Gríma, for the virtuous do not commit offenses that require forgiveness on such an order. It is thus unavoidable that mercy on occasion must be extended to those who will later prove unworthy of pity."

"I suppose then, that we shall go on after Gandalf and the hobbits."

"Yes, for as Gandalf has let Saruman and Gríma depart unmolested, _**we**_ shan't be troubled by them!"

The two friends resumed their journey northward through Dunland. Gandalf and the hobbits were making for Rivendell, and Legolas joyed at the thought of returning to the place where he had been fostered. As for Gimli, he was happy on his friend's account. Moreover, he had not forgotten that Elrond kept a good table and that a corner of his wine cellar was given over to beer for the delectation of human and dwarf visitors.

First, though, Legolas insisted on stopping at a settlement of Dunlendings inhabited by descendants of one Hugh the Farmer.

"Are you sure we will be well received?" Gimli asked anxiously as they arrived at the edge of the village. "Everywhere else, the Dunlendings have fled at our approach. 'Tis true that the humans here are not scuttling away, but maybe that is because they plan to stand and fight."

"You do not see them brandishing weapons, do you, Gimli?"

"That there man is holding a hoe."

"Aye, and see how ferociously he attacks those weeds. And, look, another man is wielding a pair of shears against a bush! Oh, horrible! Yet another man is taking a rake to the straw that is trying to escape from a haystack!"

"Enough," grumbled Gimli. "I reckon you are right. These folk neither fear nor hate us. Unusual, that, considering they are Dunlendings."

"My friendship with the folk in this village goes back many years," Legolas said, leaping down from his horse. "Master Eorþward," he called to a man who approached. "I hope you and yours are well."

"Very well indeed, Master Anomen," the man replied, extending the hand of friendship to Legolas, which the elf gladly took. "You are welcome here, Master Anomen," Eorþward said. "You and your friend both."

"Anomen," muttered Gimli after Eorþward had led them to the largest house in the village and graciously withdrawn to allow them to settle in. "That is no elven name. How came you to be called that?"

"I made it up out of fragments from two antique mannish tongues," Legolas answered. "For a time, like Aragorn, I did not dare go about under my given name. When I met Hugh, Eorþward's ancestor, I did so under the guise of Anomen, and so they have known me ever since."

"What does Anomen mean?"

"No name."

"So you were the Nameless One?"

"Yes."

"Disconcerting, that."

Legolas gave a slight shrug. "I became used to it."

"But the Nameless One is a title folk gave to Sauron. You were never bothered at being addressed with one of the names given to the Dark Lord?"

"When I made up the name Anomen, I was not aware that Sauron was called the Nameless One. By the time I learned of it, I was accustomed to the name. Besides," the elf added, grinning, "when I was young, I sometimes indulged myself in the fancy that a nameless elf could stand in opposition to a nameless enemy."

"When you were young!" snorted Gimli. "I don't see no beard on your face!" Then the dwarf suddenly grew solemn. "But you were right that you stood in opposition to the enemy. Sauron represented all that was evil; you stand for all that is good."

"I am not perfect, Gimli," said Legolas.

"Didn't say that you were," Gimli retorted. "I reckon a body can have flaws but still in the main stand for that what be right and wholesome. Works the other way, don't it? Gandalf says that Saruman had his good points, but in the main he turned out to be evil. Probably the same for Sauron, who was Saruman writ large. Few things in this world what are altogether good or evil. So I reckon that, for all your flaws, you will do as a representative of the compassionate and the generous and the, and the—suchlike," the dwarf finished lamely, having exhausted his stock of synonyms.

"Then the same may be said of you," Legolas replied, smiling.

"No, you do much better as a—what you call it—a symbol. Sometimes you are downright unearthly, and I reckon that is a quality that makes you—an idea. A symbol is an idea, innit?"

"It can be something that represents an idea."

"Right. Well, I reckon, what with my dirt and my beard and my rough speech and my coarse clothes, that folk might overlook the _**idea**_."

Legolas looked fondly at his friend. The dwarf did have a point, for it was true that some folk would not trouble themselves to see below Gimli's rough appearance and manners. Legolas knew his friend to be generous and loyal and compassionate, but someone not so well acquainted with him might indeed be unable to recognize these qualities.

By now the two friends had unpacked their saddlebags and freshened up—Legolas having washed with water in a basin provided for that purpose and Gimli having picked a few burrs from his beard. They stepped forth from the cottage, where they were greeted by hopeful urchins. After distributing a few pennies, the travelers went in search of Eorþward. They found him in the smithy, where he taken a hinge to be repaired. Gimli at once struck up an enthusiastic conversation with the smith, and after a while Legolas and Eorþward left him there, alternating happily between working the bellows and advising his colleague on the best way to anneal steel.

"He is your good friend, I see," Eorþward observed as they walked slowly through the village so that Legolas might learn how it had changed since his last visit.

"Yes, he is my good friend—my very, very good friend," said Legolas.

"Some folk might be surprised at such a friendship between a dwarf and an elf. I am not, however, for it is no more surprising than the longstanding friendship between you and the folk of this village. It is said that the child is father of the man, and your behavior as an adult is of a piece with your behavior as a youth."

"Thank you, Master Eorþward—although there is one who would say that I am very much improved of late. I was not always so forbearing toward Gimli! But tell me, Master Eorþward, how long has it been since Gandalf and a party of hobbits passed this way?"

"They stayed with us a month ago. At the end of their visit, our stock of apples was much reduced! Master Meriadoc is especially fond of the fruit."

"Yes," laughed Legolas. "It is true that Merry is a prodigious eater of apples! I think that his taste for apples is exceeded only by the delight he takes in mushrooms."

Gimli and Legolas stayed a week with the Dunlendings. During that time, Gimli entertained himself by forging tools and repairing cookware, and Legolas happily worked beside Eorþward in the orchards.

"This journey northward through Dunland is much pleasanter than our trek south," Gimli observed on the night before their departure. "Is it possible that scarcely a year has passed since we set out from Rivendell?"

"It does seem remarkable," Legolas mused. "Middle-earth has changed—we have changed—and in such a short time when one considers how many eons have passed since the creation of Arda."

Before dawn, however, it was proved that not everything had changed. Legolas and Gimli awoke to a clamor of shouts. Seizing their weapons, they ran out of the cottage into the center of the village, where a band of men milled about talking excitedly. "Six horses," a man was exclaiming. "The villains! We cannot afford the loss of six horses!"

"You shall _**not**_ lose six horses," Gimli swore. "Legolas here is a great tracker. He will lead you to the thieves, and you will recover your horses. In that effort, you have _**my**_ axe!"

"And _**my**_ bow!" Legolas agreed. Then he shot a startled glance at Gimli as he realized how their words echoed the pledges that each had made at the formation of the Fellowship.

"I still think Middle-earth has changed, but perhaps not as much as I had supposed," he observed to Gimli as they returned to the cottage to pack their saddlebags. "Thieves and brigands, while not as much of a menace as a Sauron or a Saruman, can still threaten the livelihoods of honest folk."

"Aye, and folk must combine forces in order to fend off the depredations of such miscreants. That hasn't changed, either."

The two exchanged knowing looks, suddenly energized at the thought of going into combat once again. Legolas buckled on his quiver. "Come, Gimli, come! The game is afoot!" he exclaimed as he strode from the cottage. Practically on his heels, his friend came after. It would not be as grand a quest as the one that first threw them together as comrades, but that they should once more fight side by side—that was enough.


	62. Chapter 62: Part of the Landscape

**My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers of Chapter 61: **_**alli, CAH, Enna Namo, L.A.H.H., Lasette-1982, Ne'ith5, **_**and **_**ziggy3**_**. **

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit **_**and**_** The Lord of the Rings**_**. The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as **_**The Silmarillion**_**. **

**The story in which Elrohir is so blinded by vengeance that he loses sight of his brother's safety is found in Chapter 7 of **_**Dol Guldur**_**: "Elrohir Confronts His Demons." The story in which a young Estel is propelled into the middle of a skirmish is found in Chapter 5 of **_**Revenge**_**: "Elrond Unleashed." The story in which Elrond and Glorfindel discuss how revenge can canker the soul is found in Chapter 6 of **_**Revenge**_**: "The Price of Revenge."**

**Beta Reader: This is a very long chapter and for various reasons I need to post it today, so I did not ask Dragonfly to check it for errors. If anyone notices any problems, please alert me.**

**Chapter 62: Part of the Landscape**

Legolas, Gimli, and their companions quickly drew within striking distance of the horse thieves. The number of brigands exceeded the number of horses they had stolen, so the thieves could move at a pace no faster than those of their accomplices who were afoot. Moreover, the robbers had immediately led the horses west, into the foothills of the Misty Mountains, and in that rough terrain they were slowed even further as they sought out paths that could be traversed by the stolen livestock. Like the brigands, the villagers lacked enough horses for all to ride and at first could move no faster than at footpace. When the ground became broken, however, they had dismounted and left such horses as they had under the guard of a few men. Free of the need to find paths passable by their mounts, the pursuers were now moving more rapidly than their quarry.

The pursuers were also aided in their quest by the fact that the brigands were making no attempt to hide their trail. They did not split up. Nor did they travel signal file, to minimize any traces of their passage.

"They are confident that they will not be followed," Legolas observed to Gimli.

"Aye. No doubt they thought the village populated only by Men and did not realize that amongst the villagers was a Dwarf what had been to Mordor and back," the Nauga replied insouciantly.

Legolas decided that silence would answer the Dwarf's impudence better than any retort, so he held his tongue. Gimli pretended triumph when the elf did not reply, but after failing in several more attempts to goad Legolas into an exchange of mock insults, the Nauga turned his attention toward their quest.

"How many are we chasing?" he asked Legolas as the elf examined the tracks left by the brigands and the stolen horses.

"Ten. Twelve at the most," was the elf's laconic reply.

"Six apiece," chortled the Dwarf. "Easy odds!"

"You are forgetting that the villagers accompany us," Legolas pointed out. "It will not be necessary for each of us to fight six apiece."

"Farmers," Gimli said dismissively.

"Only a few days ago you were afraid those farmers would attack us," Legolas reminded him. "And have you forgotten Helm's Deep? Farmers, farriers, stable boys—they held off Saruman's horde until Gandalf arrived with reinforcements."

"True," agreed Gimli, chastened. "I reckon a man what can cut the throat of a steer may stand up to a robber as stoutly as a warrior would face down warg."

"And a scythe will cut as sharply as a sword when a farmer's family and livelihood are in peril," Legolas concurred.

The elf arose from where he had been studying the tracks of their quarry, and with Gimli he returned to the villagers, who waited with patient eagerness. "From hence we must advance very quietly, for our foes are near," he said to the villagers. "I had thought to track them to their camp, but I deem that will not be necessary. For these past few miles, we have been on a well-worn trail. I reckon it has been much used by our enemies. After we dispatch some dozen of our foes, I am sure that if we continue to follow this path, we will come upon their lair and be able to destroy the remnants of their band, if remnants there be."

This advice seemed wise to the villagers—to destroy a smallish band of brigands and so reduce the numbers that they might face later. With Legolas in the lead, they quietly moved parallel to the trail. "The brigands have been heedless," Legolas said to Eorþward, "but there is no sense in risking an ambush, as we would if we kept to the path."

Soon the trackers heard ribald singing and raucous laughter and saw the flicker of firelight through the scrub that grew on the sides of the mountain. Their foes had stopped to camp for the night. The villagers crouched low as Legolas and Gimli held a whispered conference with Eorþward. Legolas believed that the brigands likely would try to flee higher up the mountain once they were attacked. "If, as I suspect, they have a redoubt further on, they will make for it," he observed. Gimli and Eorþward agreed. The three decided that Legolas, Gimli, and the boldest and sturdiest of the villagers should therefore circle around the camp and position themselves upslope to prevent escape. Eorþward would divide the remaining men into three groups: two small ones to be stationed to either side of the camp to intercept any brigand who might try to break out on his own, and a somewhat larger group that would take up a position downslope. Eorþward would lead this latter band. Upon an agreed-upon signal, he and his men would begin the attack.

The trackers moved toward their positions. When Legolas was certain that all the villagers must be at the ready, he chirruped the song of a nuthatch. Gimli shot him a wry glance. 'Trust an elf to have settled upon such a sweet signal for a skirmish', he mouthed to his companion. Legolas smirked as he fitted an arrow to his bow, but any retort was forestalled by an outbreak of alarmed shouts. The Dunlendings had charged the brigands and taken them unawares.

Several of the Dunlendings possessed bows. They kept cows and sheep more for the milk and the wool than for the meat, and at such times as they could be spared from the fields, the village huntsmen stalked deer, hare, and wild boar, as well as game birds such as ducks and pheasants. "Venison," Eorþward had once observed to Legolas, "is a much pleasanter dish than the tough meat of a cow that has grown too old to give much milk."

These Dunlending archers proved to be good shots, and of the eleven horse thieves who lolled carelessly in the camp, six fell dead at the first volley. As Legolas had predicted, the survivors, knowing themselves to be outnumbered, fled up the slope. The elf calmly brought down two robbers with his bow as they broke through the brush, and Eorþward and two of his men each slew one brigand apiece. Gimli, to his disappointment and shame, found himself left without an opponent.

"Now I call that uncivil," the Nauga grumbled. "You might have thought of me before you shot that second robber! Hain't you never heard of _**sharing**_?"

Legolas was too busy examining the bodies of the dead brigands to pay his friend any mind. "These are no ordinary horse thieves," the elf said, his voice tight. "They are half-goblins."

Gimli left off grumbling and bent down to peer at one of the robbers. "I am afraid you are right, lad," he agreed. "Now why are there half-goblins hereabouts?" the Nauga wondered anxiously. "I know Saruman bred such folk, but I thought they were all destroyed at Isengard or in that forest what planted itself outside Helm's Deep."

"If they do have a lair deeper in the mountains, perhaps we shall find the answer there," Legolas suggested.

It was too late to continue further up the mountain. They would have to make camp. First, though, they needed to dispose of the bodies of their foes. The soil would have been too rocky to dig graves even if they had had shovels, and they feared to pile up brush for a funeral pyre lest the heavy smoke reveal their presence. Instead, Eorþward ordered that the bodies be dragged to a crevasse. Legolas felt regret as the bodies were dumped unceremoniously into the depths of the mountain. In part he felt pity for his foes, but it also seemed disrespectful to Arda to dispose of the dead in this fashion. The Dunlendings, however, appeared to feel no such misgivings. Before they dumped the bodies into the crevasse, they stripped them of valuables, and no one stopped to utter apologies to Middle-earth.

Gimli sensed his friend's unease. "Let them be, lad," he advised. "Their life is hard. An elf may have the leisure to parse fine questions such as whether it be better to bury or burn a defeated foe. But a Dunlending must fill his children's bowls with gruel before he can spare thought for such a matter—which is as much as to say, never."

Legolas had seen Dunlending mothers adding water to gruels already too thin, so he knew that Gimli spoke the truth. Silently he turned aside. Slipping behind a boulder, he sat cross-legged and cleaned the arrows that he had carefully removed from the bodies of the two brigands he had slain. Even though the dead were enemies—and half-goblins to boot—he had avoided mutilating them unnecessarily. Gimli had once commented upon his scrupulousness. "We heaped wood on those bodies and burned them," he had said after one skirmish, "so I do not know why you drew those arrows as carefully as if those Orcs were comrades whose wounds you were tending. We could have finished the task the quicker if you hadn't been so particular."

"I did not wish to damage my arrows," Legolas had replied. "Bah!" said Gimli. For the Dwarf, removing a weapon meant the yank of an axe.

"Very well," Legolas conceded. "I did it not for the sake of my arrows, nor for the sake of my foes. I did it for myself and my kin."

Gimli gave him his best 'daft elf' look.

"I would tell you a story," Legolas tried again.

Gimli beamed. A story! He refused to admit it, but Legolas, like all elves, was an excellent storyteller.

Legolas smiled at his friend.

"When I was young," he said.

Gimli snorted. "I don't see no hair—"

"—on your face," Legolas finished. He smiled again, but then grew serious.

"I was at the Battle for Dol Guldur," he said.

"Were you?" exclaimed Gimli, impressed. "Why did you never tell me?"

"I have not had the time. I have had many adventures over the centuries. Even if I leave out much, it would take decades to tell them all."

For a moment Gimli's heartiness faltered. Legolas knew at once that the Dwarf was mournful because he believed he would never have the opportunity to hear all the stories his friend might tell. 'Every evening', Legolas resolved to himself, 'I will not rest until I have told Gimli a story, one for each year of my life. I will do no less than the maiden who told one thousand and one stories over the space of as many nights'.

Thus resolved, Legolas began to tell the tale of the siege of Dol Guldur, during which one of his foster-brothers had been injured in body and the other in spirit.

"You may have heard," he said to Gimli, "that Celebrían, the wife of Elrond, was captured and tortured by Orcs."

"I had," Gimli said, his own sorrow forgotten as he was reminded of a grief greater than his own.

"She was rescued," Legolas continued, "but her wounds—especially to her soul—were such that she could never again take pleasure in Middle-earth."

"Aye, I learned that as well during my stay in Rivendell," Gimli said somberly. "And I have heard it said that Elladan and Elrohir's sadness was as deep as it would have been had she been slain outright."

"That was true when she first departed Arda. As the years passed, that sadness turned into a resolve that emboldened them as they hunted the creatures that had tormented their mother."

"It is good to be able to expend one's grief in action," said the Nauga.

"That may oft-times be true," Legolas agreed. "But," he continued, "when grief turns into a desire for revenge, such an emotion may corrode the spirit."

"You are not going to tell me that Elladan and Elrohir succumbed to _**that**_ sort of grief," protested Gimli. "When I met them, the only 'revenge' they seemed to care about involved getting back at you for some prank or another—and you yourself engage in that sort of payback, as I have good reason to know!"

"I said '_**may**_ corrode the spirit'," Legolas reminded his friend. "In the end they escaped that fate—but for Elrohir it was a very near thing. During the siege of Dol Guldur, the first two nights he went into battle hoping to feel on the morrow that he had avenged his mother. But the morning after the second skirmish found him brooding by the campfire. In both skirmishes, Elrohir had slain several Orcs, but he didn't feel any closer to achieving vengeance for his mother. Indeed, his rage was all the greater because several of his comrades had fallen, and his spirit was now burdened by their deaths as well. Bitterly he asked himself why he could feel no satisfaction in having felled several of the creatures whose kind had tormented his mother and butchered his friends.

"'Perhaps', he mused, 'it is because I haven't had time to exult. In a battle, everything happens so quickly. Having slain one enemy, I must turn to the next. I wish I had time to relish the death of each Orc who falls to my sword. Yes, that must be it; I am never able to take pleasure in the killing of my enemies. It happens; it is over'.

"My foster-brother stood up, clenching and unclenching his hands. 'I am going to _**enjoy**_ the next skirmish', he swore to himself.

"The next battle, however, was long in coming. For two nights we and our Dúnedain allies were assaulted by nothing more than the eerie mist that the power in Dol Guldur could summon and dismiss at will. The third night, Orcs and wargs engaged in several sorties that proved to be no more than feints meant either to unnerve us or to test our defenses. Elrohir could only wait in frustration, and his rage grew by the minute. He did not understand how Elladan, his twin, was able to sit so calmly, polishing his blades, checking the fletching of his arrows, all the while talking quietly with his comrades as if we were all sitting in the armory at Rivendell preparing for an inspection by Glorfindel.

"On the fourth night, Elrohir finally had a chance to put his resolution into effect. The mist began to creep toward us, and this time shrieks and howls could be heard as we fired into the vapors.

"'At last', exulted Elrohir, 'at last I will wreak my vengeance'.

"Elrohir seemed to have the strength of two elves that night, but no sooner had he hacked down one foe, than another appeared to take its place. Finally, however, the number of Orcs had been so diminished that he was able to fell one of his opponents without another one immediately taking its place. Elrohir let the battle roll on past him and paused to relish his kill.

"It was then that he realized that the Orc still lived. Elrohir's sword stroke had broken his hip and exposed his guts, but he still breathed. Moreover, he was conscious.

"Elrohir stood over the wounded Orc. The creature, although helpless, snarled up at him. Elrohir must have looked as if he were snarling himself, his lips curling back from his teeth as he glared down at his foe.

"'I am going to have so much fun finishing you off', he taunted his enemy. The Orc could not have known any words of Elvish, but Elrohir's face and voice made his meaning clear. My foster-brother had the satisfaction of seeing a look of fear spread over the creature's face.

"'Oh, yes', he gloated, "I have been looking forward to this moment for a long time—and I'm going to make it last'. He prodded his prone victim with his sword and was pleased when it yelped in pain.

"But it was another cry of pain that brought my foster-brother back to his senses. Instantly forgetting the wounded Orc, Elrohir spun about in a panic, frantically looking about the field for his twin.

"'Elladan', he shouted. 'Elladan, where are you!' He caught sight of his brother desperately trying to fend off three Orcs. Elladan's shoulder had been slashed, and blood ran from the wound down his side as far as his thigh.

"Impelled by his fear for Elladan, Elrohir charged across the field. He beheaded the first Orc and skewered the second before they knew he was upon them. The third Orc spun about and raised his scimitar but never had a chance to bring it down. Elrohir hacked the Orc's hand clean from its wrist, and the severed claw fell into the dirt still scrabbling at its weapon. Before the Orc even had a chance to react to that injury, Elrohir drove his sword into the goblin's belly, and the last threat to Elladan fell dead upon the ground.

"Elladan, meanwhile, had himself collapsed. His eyes were closed, his face pale, and his head flopped to one side. Elrohir knelt beside him and, seizing his uninjured shoulder, shook him. By then, I and several others who had seen Elladan fall had crossed the battlefield and reached them.

"'Elrohir', protested Thoron, one of our companions. 'Shaking him won't help!'

"Elrohir left off shaking his twin. 'What shall I do! What shall I do!' he cried.

"'First', Thoron said, 'calm down'.

"Elrohir nodded, but his eyes were wild with fear and he was gasping for breath. I put my hand on his shoulder.

"'Elrohir, take deep, slow breaths', I instructed him. Elrohir did so, and he began to feel steadier. Meanwhile, Thoron had ripped a strip from his tunic. This he handed to Elrohir, instructing him to hold it to the wound and press down. Elladan hadn't been cut in a vital area, so if we stopped the bleeding and kept the wound clean, his chance of survival would be good. Next Thoron bade me go and fetch Elrond or Gandalf.

"I leapt to my feet and ran off. 'Fetch _**both**_ of them!' Elrohir shouted after me.

"By the time I returned with both Elrond and Gandalf, Elladan had come out of his faint. He still looked a little pale, but he was swearing that he would be able to sit up if only Elrohir and Thoron would let him. The two were insisting, however, that he wait until a healer had looked him over.

"Elrond had been hurrying to reach his son until he drew near and saw Elladan bickering with Elrohir and Thoron. Then he slowed to a more deliberate pace and let the mask of a commander slide over his face.

"'So', Elrond said calmly, 'I have been summoned to treat a wounded warrior, yet it seems as if appropriate treatment has already been rendered'. He briefly inspected our handiwork and nodded his approval. He arose to leave us.

"'Ada', protested Elladan, 'you cannot go without saying something to Elrohir. On his own he beat off three Orcs—else I had been dead!'

"Elrohir blushed dragon-fire red and looked down at his feet. Had it been any other elf, my foster-father would have written off his reaction as one of humility."

Gimli huffed. "Elrohir don't strike me as someone who would suffer from _**that**_ fault," he observed.

"True," laughed Legolas. "As you suggest, Elrohir has never been backward in speaking of his own exploits. No doubt with that fact in mind, my foster-father kept his face expressionless and simply told Elrohir that the two of them would speak of the matter on another occasion. Then he and Gandalf strode off to attend to others who were wounded.

"After they had departed, our captain saw to it that dead foes were dragged into one large pile, and he ordered that injured Orcs be put out of their misery as painlessly as possible. He bade one of our number watch over Elladan whilst Elrohir, Thoron, and I sought out the wounded Orcs scattered about the field. Dispatching them was a distasteful duty, but we understood it to be a necessary one. As efficiently as possible, we moved from Orc to Orc, quickly cutting the throats of any that still lived.

"Elrohir found himself kneeling beside the Orc whom he had been tormenting only a short time before. The Orc lingered, the evil in his eyes replaced by the bewildered pain of a dumb creature that suffers and does not know why.

"Elrohir hesitated, but not because he wished to prolong the creature's dying. No, he suddenly found that he dreaded inflicting more pain that day, even if it were upon the most loathsome of creatures. He steeled himself to the task by reminding himself that he was in fact shortening the creature's suffering and easing its death. 'I am sorry', he whispered, as with one swift stroke he cut the creature's throat. Then he called for Thoron and I to help him drag the body to the growing pile of Orc carcasses.

"Later that evening our captain ordered Elrohir to deliver a scroll on which he had written the names and readiness of all the members of his patrol, whether whole or injured. Elrohir joined a steady stream of young messengers on similar errands to the commanders of the army. When he reached the tent that served as headquarters, he held back, allowing all the other messengers to go before him. After all the other runners had reported in, Elrohir stepped forward and asked for a private audience with his father. Elrohir knew that the severely injured were to be sent under escort to the Great Hall in Mirkwood, where they would receive better care than they could be afforded in the field. As for the members of the escort, after they had delivered their charges, they would return promptly to battle. Elrohir asked his father to detail him to the escort—but he also asked that he remain behind in Thranduil's Hall. When Elrond asked what reason he had for asking to be taken out of battle, Elrohir shamefacedly replied that he had proved himself unreliable. 'My comrades cannot depend upon me', he said to Elrond when he was asked to explain himself further. 'If it had not been for my selfishness, Elladan would never have been injured'. He had been obsessed with vengeance, he confessed, and in his fury was blinded to Elladan's peril."

"He made a mistake," Gimli said, "but I hope Elrond forgave him. His motives were—well, I was about to say 'good', but I reckon I will say 'not bad' instead. He didn't set out to do wrong, but it _**was**_ selfish of him to forget about his comrades. A warrior mustn't think of his own wishes in the midst of battle—no, not even in order to avenge his kin!"

"Yes," agreed Legolas. "And bitter would have been Elrohir's victory if he had lost a second kinsman in the course of avenging the first victim. But he was not so unfortunate. Moreover, it was plain to Elrond that Elrohir had gained wisdom in the encounter. Unreliable Elrohir may have been when he went into battle; after the encounter, none could be steadier. With both firmness and kindness, Elrond sent my foster-brother back into battle. He reminded Elrohir of another occasion when I had been the errant one. I had learned from my heedlessness, and instead of punishing me, Elrond had at once sent me to rejoin my patrol, saying to me that 'It would be a shame to waste wisdom so dearly bought'. Now he uttered those words to Elrohir as well."

"That is just the sort of thing my Da always said to me when I was a rash younker what would rush into danger," Gimli said. "'Seeing as how you've already bolloxed matters'," he'd say, 'you may as well carry on, for it won't do no good to tell you to avoid doing something what you've already done'. Wise man, my Da."

The two friends shared a laugh. "But, laddie," Gimli said when he had finished chortling, "Your story leaves me as bewildered as before. Once Elrohir recovered his wits, he didn't want to hurt even a wounded Orc without need. I understand that much. Howsomeever, once a foe is dead, he ain't going to feel no more pain. So yanking an arrow from a dead Orc ain't at all like tormenting a live one."

Legolas reminded the Nauga of what he had said earlier: "I take care not for the sake of my foes. I take care for myself and my kin."

Gimli frowned. "That's a fine sounding sentiment, Legolas. When Elrohir lost his head in battle, it was bad for his brother—no quarrel there. But as I have said, no one will be hurt if you yank an arrow from the body of a dead Orc. I like your story about the Battle for Dol Guldur well enough, but it don't signify nothing when it comes to the care of one's weapons."

"I see I must tell you another story," Legolas said. "Elrond played a role in this one, too, and so did Aragorn. He was little, then, and we called him Estel."

"I have heard you address him by that name," Gimli observed.

"Yes, I still do on occasion. But when he was a child, it was the only name he went by. It was dangerous to utter his real name, for the Enemy would have tracked him inexorably had his existence been guessed at. Thus Isildur's heir grew to manhood as Elrond's foster-son, in dress and speech indistinguishable from his elven kinsmen. But neither his upbringing in Rivendell nor the protection of an elvish name could keep Estel altogether out of danger."

Gimli snorted. "I'm guessing Aragorn himself was responsible for some of the scrapes he may have gotten into."

With a grin Legolas affirmed the truth of Gimli's words. "Yes, he had the knack of materializing in places where he ought not to have been. In fact, soon after his arrival in Rivendell I found myself tracking him because he had wandered off and was swept away by the River Bruinen. You must remind me to tell you that story someday! Today, however, I will tell you of the time that he was drop-kicked into the middle of a battle."

"Drop-kicked?"

"Aye, drop-kicked. Estel had hidden himself in the tree line during a skirmish between a party of elves and a band of Orcs and half-goblins. From his vantage point he shot arrow after arrow at the enemy. He was only a child and his arrows were tiny, but they discomfited his foes, distracting them and leaving them vulnerable to the elven warriors. After a time, however, one of the half-goblins, cleverer than his fellows, realized that these little arrows were coming from the perimeter of the battlefield. He scuttled aside into the woods and came up from behind to the spot from which he judged the archer was firing. Estel, intent on aiding his friends and kinsmen, was unaware of his danger until he was dangling in the air, his throat gripped by the half-goblin. The malevolent creature drop-kicked the lad into the middle of the field, where the fighting was fiercest.

"A horrified Elrond had seen the half-goblin reach into a bush and pull up Estel by the neck. To his even greater horror, if that were at all possible, he had seen the fell creature propel the child into the maelstrom of struggling Orc and elf.

"You must understand that Elrond had been brought up to be diffident and reserved in both behavior and speech. He had fought in the Battle of the Last Alliance, but his mentor, Gil-galad, had been grooming him as a leader, not a warrior. Thus he had always been urged to think in broad, strategic terms. He had also been encouraged to be self-effacing, to put the needs of the many ahead of the needs of the few—or the one. As Gil-galad had hoped, this training had born fruit. Throughout the many centuries that had followed Gil-galad's death, Elrond had ever been the one who gave counsel and advice, the one who mediated between factions and nourished negotiations. Invariably the good leader, Elrond always worked dutifully for the benefit of his people and on his own behalf sought neither power nor reward. No matter what he was forced to confront or to suffer, his needs and personal desires he always placed last.

"When the Orcs had carried off and tormented Celebrían, even then Elrond had not set aside the centuries of training and practice. He remained calm. He never raged, never gave vent to his sorrow, not even when Celebrían at last departed for the Undying Lands. Rivendell and its folk had to be sustained, no matter the cost to him.

"But when Elrond saw the half-goblin drop-kick the little human into the midst of the battle, for a brief while it was as if those centuries of restraint had never existed. He let out a roar that affrighted even Glorfindel. With a mighty swing he decapitated the Orc that stood before him, and then he charged straight for the spot where Estel had disappeared into the surge of bodies. Hacking with abandon, Elrond might have been mistaken for an Orc himself, leaving a trail of severed arms and heads in his wake. One half-goblin he hewed apart at the waist, the legs remaining upright for a fraction of a second after the trunk had toppled to the ground."

Gimli nodded appreciatively. This sort of mayhem was familiar to the axe-bearer.

"As Elrond was slashing his way toward the spot where he had last seen Estel," Legolas continued, "the child was himself doing his best to confound his enemies. He had landed at the feet of an Orc that, momentarily taken aback, stared stupidly at him for the seconds that it took for the little human to catch his breath. By the time the Orc raised his scimitar, Estel had strength and wit enough to scramble forward, between the legs of his foe. The Orc, unable to check his swing, thrust his weapon into the ground. Before the Orc could wrest his scimitar free, he was cut down by an alert elven warrior. Continuing to dodge in this fashion, Estel sowed chaos amongst our enemies. He was small and fast-moving, not an ideal target for the doltish and lumbering Orcs. More than once an Orc swinging at Estel inadvertently slashed one of his companions when the little human sprang aside to avoid the blow. Before too long, the half-goblins had realized that this little warrior was a serious threat, and they began to pursue the annoying human. Of course, they were then no longer able to command the Orcs. Now leaderless, those creatures became even less effective than before and fell inexorably to the swords of their elven foes.

"Once the half-goblins had begun to chase Estel, things might have gone ill for him, but the battlefield was now open enough for me to spot my little foster-brother. I quickly caught the attention of those nearby me, and we charged as a group toward the little human. Once we reached the child, I reached down and pulled him into the center of our band. Once ringed by friends and kinsmen, Estel for once was all too happy to stay put. He had had as much of battle as he could stomach. My companions and I assumed a purely defensive posture, allowing other elves to mop up the last of the Orcs and half-goblins.

"The mêlée over, Elrond pulled his sword from the body of his last opponent and frantically scanned the battlefield for any sign of Estel. He did not see him at first, and he felt the bile rise to his throat. But then our little band at last relaxed discipline. We stepped away from one another and looked about to ascertain the fate of our other comrades. Elrond spotted Estel in our midst and hastened toward him. Elrond did not realize, however, that he was so splattered with Orc blood that he looked as if he were wearing a mask of black. He reached the child and stooped over him. Estel, looking up at the blood-streaked apparition, screamed in terror. Chastened, Elrond stepped back. He looked about at the other elves. I happened to be the cleanest."

Gimli snorted. "Surprise, that!"

Legolas grinned. "I was the cleanest," he repeated. "One would scarcely guess," he added cheekily, "that I had been in battle."

Gimli snorted again.

"Elrond gestured toward Estel and asked me to take charge of him," Legolas continued, still grinning. "I agreed, and for good measure, seeing how begrimed Elrond was, I informed him that the nearest stream was off to the northeast about a quarter mile from where we stood."

Gimli rolled his eyes. Of _**course**_ the daft elf would know the location of the nearest place suitable for bathing.

"Is there something wrong with your eyes?" Legolas said innocently. He ignored the growl Gimli gave in return. "I think," the elf went on cheerfully, "that Elrond was impressed at how well I knew the terrain."

"Water ain't terrain," muttered Gimli. "It runs _**through**_ terrain."

"The features of the landscape, then," Legolas replied. "You will allow that a watercourse is part of the landscape."

"It's called _**land**_scape," Gimli shot back.

"It is called land_**scape**_ because it has been shaped," Legolas retorted. "Surely you have noticed that the Rohirrim pronounce 'scape' as 'shape'."

"What does _**that**_ have to do with the price of beer in Dale?" Gimli demanded. This was an old dwarvish proverb that was trotted out whenever a speaker introduced something that his listeners deemed irrelevant to the matter at hand.

"Surely you, who hold yourself superior to all others in the study of rocks and soil, are mindful that the land is shaped by water," Legolas shot back.

Gimli knew Legolas had a point, but he wasn't going to let on—at least not immediately. "For landshaping, I would take an earthquake over a stream," he declared stubbornly. "Earthquakes uplift the low places of the earth and cast down the high ones. Volcanoes, too, are prodigious landshapers. Their effluvia build up mighty mountains."

"Earthquakes and volcanoes do indeed shape Arda," Legolas conceded, suddenly shifting tack. He brushed aside a strand of hair that had blown into his face. "It is windy today," he said slyly. "Tell, me Gimli, is it true, as some say, that over eons the power of the wind is greater even than that of the volcano?"

"Let enough time pass," agreed Gimli, "and the wind may shape the earth as dramatically as any volcano. The wind scours mountains with sand and grit and reduces them to hills. Contra, the wind can pile up soil and sand in great windrows—dunes we call them."

"Rather similar to the power of water, I should guess," Legolas said blandly. "For over the centuries may not water wear away rock? Contra, does not water carry silt great distances and thereby create islands and great deltas?"

"I know what you are about, Legolas," the Dwarf huffed. "You are now going to suggest that water acts like wind."

"Would I be wrong if I did so?" Legolas asked, still maintaining an innocent demeanor.

"Yes, it does act like wind," the Dwarf agreed readily, startling Legolas. "But," he added quickly, "there your logic fails. For I know you wish to argue that since water, like the wind, shapes the land, then water is part of the landscape. Howsomeever, I hope you have noticed that wind is an invisible landscaper, and therefore not _**part**_ of the landscape. The wind is known by its actions and, lacking substance, can never be seen. Therefore," the Dwarf concluded triumphantly, "you will never persuade me that water is **part** of the landscape by comparing it with the wind, which is not!"

Legolas was momentarily left speechless by Gimli's great leap of illogic. "Hah!" crowed Gimli, "you didn't see _**that**_ coming, did you?"

At this gibe, Legolas recovered. "Gimli," he exclaimed, "you have merely succeeded in proving my point. You concede that both wind and water shape the land, and you concede as well that water is visible whilst wind is not. Everywhere we look, we see rivers, lakes, swamps, and ponds. If you are right in saying that water cannot be compared to the wind, it is only because water has the advantage in both shaping the landscape and being visible within it!"

Now Legolas gave way to very unelvenly behvior. He folded his arms across his chest and smirked. His argument, however, had had no effect at all upon his friend.

"You Elves are as skinny and slippery as weasels," the Dwarf complained. "You won't be pinned down on any subject. You promised to explain why you remove your arrows so carefully from the bodies of fallen foes, but what do you do instead? Cavil about drops of water and puffs of wind. Misdirectorating—that's what you are about!"

Now it was Gimli's turn to smirk, as Legolas had gone from that triumphant expression to one more akin to gaping—more unelvenly behavior, by the by.

"Well, will you or will you not finish the story?" Gimli demanded.

Legolas suddenly realized that he had the advantage. The Dwarf really would not rest until he had heard the rest of the story. "As you have accused me of failing to stick to the subject, I shouldn't like to change tack again and so prove myself doubly unreliable. Let me at least demonstrate that I can conclude this discussion before reverting to my former tale."

Gimli looked alarmed. He was not fond of philosophic disputations—or as he called them, 'philosophisticuffs', an appropriate term in his case because on more than one occasion in Lake-town, over tankards of ale, the debate at hand had been settled when one party was forced to 'retire from the ring' both figuratively and literally.

"Now, lad," the Nauga said, adopting a tone of magnanimity, "I know I have been severe on you just now, but I am not so unforgiving as to insist that you continue on a hopeless quest to rectificate anything you have said amiss."

"I would not find it a hardship," Legolas replied.

"It would be uncharitable of me to require it of you," Gimli returned.

"I freely take on the task," Legolas replied sweetly.

Gimli looked about desperately, searching for an escape. "The sun is lowering," he pointed out. "Hadn't we better prepare our supper? There are plenty of sticks over yonder, and I shall fetch water."

"I do not see how that would be possible," Legolas said.

"Not possible to prepare our supper?" said Gimli, puzzled.

"Not possible to fetch water," Legolas replied, doing his best not to grin. "After all," he deadpanned, "water could not possibly be found in this _**land**_scape."

The Dwarf was flummoxed for a moment, but then he rallied. "You have quite overlooked something, my pointy-eared princeling," he retorted. "It is of course true that water can never be part of a _**land**_scape—the language forbids it!—but why have you discounted the existence of a _**water**_scape? I am surprised at you, Legolas. One would think that someone so bent on bathing at every stream would be familiar with the notion. I shall demonstrate the existence of such a thing by fetching a bucket of water this very minute—you shall not be able to deny that waterscapes are very real when I come back with water sloshing over the side of our kettle!"

Before Legolas had a chance to reply, Gimli had scurried to their horse, seized the camp kettle, and hurried off. Legolas was not certain which of the two friends had won the engagement, but after a few seconds, he shrugged and began to collect sticks. By the time Gimli returned, with water running down the side of the kettle, Legolas had lit a fire and suspended a dressed rabbit over it from a tripod that he had fashioned from three of the longer sticks. By unspoken agreement, neither Dwarf nor Elf reverted to the topic of 'scapes' of any sort. Instead, they dined together quietly, their very silence a sign of their deep friendship. At the very moment that Gimli began thinking of salt, Legolas was handing him the salt cellar; and Gimli was filling his friend's mug with tea before the Elf had even become aware that he was thirsty.

It was Gimli's turn to wash the dishes that night, and he carried them back to that selfsame stream that was near to hand while at the same time not a part of the landscape. Legolas forebore comment on this apparent paradox. He also waited patiently while Gimli smoked a pipe after returning from his errand. Then, his friend's preparations complete, the Elf resumed his tale exactly where he had left off.

"Elrond gestured toward Estel and asked me to take charge of him," Legolas recited. "I agreed, and for good measure, seeing how begrimed Elrond was, I informed him that the nearest stream was off to the northeast about a quarter mile from where we stood."

Gimli wisely said nothing.

"I think," the elf continued, "that Elrond was impressed at how well I knew the terrain. However, Elrond would attend to other matters before removing the filth of battle from his body. Estel having been seen to, Elrond immediately looked to the welfare of his warriors. He ignored his own condition, the centuries of self-restraint having returned as quickly as they had fled.

"To Elrond's relief, he soon saw that injuries were few, and those minor. Once he had checked on his companions, his next responsibility was to see that the surviving Orcs and half-goblins were put to death as painlessly as possible. He gave the order and surveyed the scene as scouts went methodically from fallen foe to fallen foe, slaying any who survived with a quick thrust to the throat. Suddenly Elrond realized that an elven warrior was stooping over the half-goblin who had so brutally flung Estel into the midst of the battle.

"'Wait'," Elrond commanded. He strode over to the half-goblin and stared down upon him with a stony face. 'Do you truly deserve a clean death?' he said aloud.

"'You are asking the wrong question', said a voice surprisingly gentle given that it came from a warrior standing upon a field of death. 'Rather you should ask what it is that you deserve', the speaker continued.

"With a start, Elrond realized that Glorfindel had quietly approached and now stood by his side.

"'What do you mean?' asked Elrond, jolted out of his fury.

"'Never have we asked whether the Orcs we dispatch deserve to die painlessly', Glorfindel replied. 'For it is not their welfare for which we are concerned', he continued. 'No, rather we kill cleanly out of concern for ourselves'.

"'Concern for ourselves?' Elrond said questioningly. He already knew the answer to his query, for over the centuries he himself had counseled young Elves on the subject of revenge. Just this once, however, he wished to be reassured by hearing someone other than himself rehearse the argument.

"'Yes', said Glorfindel. 'Elves do not wish to be degraded into beings who relish the sufferings of others. We do not wish to become creatures like these Orcs. We may feel rage at the height of battle. We may feel fear. These emotions are not only just but necessary. Today these emotions helped you to slash your way through your enemies. They may have turned the tide of battle. But do you wish these same feelings to rule your life after the battle has ended? They will cut you deeper than any sword.'

"It was true, Elrond thought to himself. He had felt rage and fear when he had seen Estel hurled into the mêlée, and those emotions had indeed carried him through a host of foes. But for all his rage and fear, in the end it had not been hate for Orcs that had truly motivated him. No, it had been love for Estel. It was not, he said to himself, always necessary to suppress the most passionate of feelings. But it was imperative that he act upon them in an appropriate manner, at the appropriate time. He had been right to decapitate and disembowel Orcs in his desperate attempt to rescue his fosterling. But now he had no excuse to act so. He had no need. Neither, he realized, did he in fact have the desire. For what he felt now was neither rage nor fear but sorrow mingled with relief.

"Elrond thus conceded to himself that if he tormented the half-goblin that lay dying before him, it would not be in order to save a companion or a kinsman. It would be purely to take delight in the creature's suffering. And in order to do so, he would have to rekindle his own hate and fear without any good object in mind. He would have to summon up the emotions that completely governed these fell creatures all the hours of their days and all the days of their lives. Did he want to be as one of those creatures? Elrond shook his head. Revenge was not worth it, the price being so high.

"Elrond stooped down over the half-goblin. 'I do this for myself, not for you', he said dispassionately. With one quick movement the elf-lord allowed the creature as easy a passing as possible."

Legolas looked hopefully at Gimli. Had the Dwarf understood the story?

"Again you have told a tale about an enemy still living," Gimli began.

Legolas felt the beginnings of disappointment.

"But I reckon I understand now," Gimli continued. "It's what _**you**_ are feeling when you cut the arrow from the body of a foe—that's what you are going on about."

Legolas began to smile. "Yes," he said eagerly. "It is true my enemy will feel no pain when I remove my arrows from his body. But if I treat his body disrespectfully, then _**I**_ should be callous. I do not wish to be hard and unfeeling. I handle the bodies of my foes with respect so that I do not become a creature like unto them."

Gimli nodded. "Aye. I do understand. You do not wish to slay within you the feelings what make you who you are."

Legolas looked at Gimli with renewed respect. "My friend, those words prove that you are really quite good at 'philosophisticuffs'."

"Of course I am," beamed the Nauga. "I am always the last man standing, or Dwarf, as the case is."

Legolas wondered whether his friend was speaking literally or metaphorically, but he held his tongue. Gimli, however, was not finished. "Speaking of philosophisticuffs," he declared, "whilst I was scouring the dishes, I noticed something what has bearing upon whether or not water may be spoken of as part of the landscape."

"Indeed?" Legolas said, his voice and face carefully neutral.

"Aye. Now, it is true that a body of water cannot _**be**_ a landscape, it not being land atall. However, it has occurred to me that water must rest upon something solid, or it will slip away like broth through a sieve. Now, that something is earth or rock, what are doubtless parts of the landscape, each itself being a species of land. It is safe to say, then, that water, although properly belonging to a waterscape, must rest _**on**_ a landscape."

"That seems a reasonable idea," Legolas began.

"Of **course** it's reasonable," Gimli interrupted. "It's _**my**_ idea."

"I suppose," continued Legolas, "that if land were perfectly flat, it would contain water no better than a sieve. The water would run off until it found a depression. Is that not so, Gimli?"

"Aye, that is true," Gimli answered.

"When water pools in such a depression, might it not be wise to say that it rests _**in**_ the depression rather than on it, as beer sits _**in**_ a tankard rather than on it? You are best to say, Gimli, for you have much experience with tankards, and I have not."

"Aye, lad. If the tapster were to pour the beer onto the tankard rather than into it, 'twould be a grievous loss."

"So you have discovered, then, that water may sit in a landscape. This is an excellent notion, Gimli."

"Of _**course**_ it's an excellent notion—," Gimli began

"It's _**your**_ notion," Legolas finished.

"Keep in mind, however," Gimli added hastily, "that I do not say that water is _**part**_ of the landscape. I merely say, for the sake of pre-ci-sion, that it may be _**in**_ the landscape."

"I would not dream of thinking otherwise," Legolas assured him.

"Howsomever," Gimli went on, "it would be awkward to be continually referring to the waterscape _**in**_ the landscape. As a practical matter it wouldn't do no harm to simply refer to 'landscape' when we are trying to discuss the location of water. After all, in the end everything depends upon the landscape. We Dwarves are a sensible folk, unlike Elves, who will endlessly parse the wording of a sentence."

"You are wise, Gimli," Legolas said.

"Of _**course**_ I'm wise—," began Gimli.

"You are a Dwarf," finished Legolas. The two friends grinned at each other.

"I washed the dishes," the Dwarf smilingly reminded his friend.

"And I shall therefore take the first watch," his friend replied.

Gimli contentedly rolled up in his blanket. As for Legolas, the moon was full that night, and the Elf took such pleasure in gazing upon the silvered landscape and listening to the singing of the nearby stream amidst its waterscape that he quite forgot to rouse his friend when his watch was done. This oversight the Sinda had committed many times before, and in the morning Gimli merely uttered a few perfunctory grumbles when he awoke and discovered that he had once again been allowed to sleep through the night. "Daft elf," he muttered. "Mustn't blame him, though. Don't have no notion as to time. Dwarf would never make that mistake."

And the magnanimous Dwarf and the pardoned Elf had continued their journey that day, each comfortable with the foibles of the other. Now Gimli smiled at the memory as he cautiously peaked around the boulder behind which a pensive Legolas had retired to clean his arrows. To his relief, Legolas smiled back at him, his good spirits seemingly having been restored by a period of reflection. "Hungry, lad?" said the Dwarf, holding out a hunk of bread and a wedge of cheese. "Thank you, Gimli," Legolas said gratefully. "Is there ought to drink?" he added after taking several bites. Gimli had brought Legolas's water skin, and now he proffered it to the Elf. "Don't drink it all," he warned his friend. "I hope you have noticed that there is little water in this here landscape."

Legolas chuckled at hearing Gimli utter that word, and the Dwarf joined him, joyful himself at seeing his friend happy once more. Then, Legolas having supped, the two friends left the shelter of the boulder to rejoin the Dunlendings. Tomorrow they would follow the trail further up the mountain. Tonight, the villagers would keep watch, and Elf and Dwarf would sleep trusting that events on the morrow would conclude no less favorably than the events of the day just ended.


	63. Chapter 63: Pipeweed and Portents

**My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers of Chapter 62: **_**CAH, Enna Namo, LAHH, Eternal Love's Eclipse, leralonde, **_**and **_**the hoodedface**_**. Thanks also to **_**Bri**_** for reviewing Chapter 14.**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit **_**and**_** The Lord of the Rings**_**. The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as **_**The Silmarillion**_**. **

**The characters in this story would of course not really be speaking modern English. One must assume, however, that it was possible to pun in the Common Speech, so I ask readers to imagine that puns analogous to the ones in the story would have been uttered by Gimli, Legolas, and the Dunlendings.**

**The phrase 'to take the piss' means 'to tease' and is used in the United Kingdom, Ireland, South Africa, New Zealand, and Australia.**

**Aragorn speculates about the presence of 'Wormtongues' in the Shire at the end of "Flotsam and Jetsam" (**_**The Two Towers**_**, Book 3, Chap. 9). Elrond wishes to send Pippin and Merry back to the Shire to warn the Hobbits that their land may be in danger in "The Ring Goes South" (**_**The Fellowship of the Ring**_**, Book 2, Chap. 3).**

**Chapter 63: Pipe-weed and Portents**

As was always the case, the next morning Legolas awoke before Gimli. An almost imperceptible lightening in the east was a sign that dawn was near, and for the Elf and a few early stirring birds, that sufficed to mark the beginning of the day. The Sinda arose and picked up the camp kettle. Nodding to a sentry, he walked to a nearby spring and filled the kettle. Returning to the camp, he lit a small, smokeless fire, and when Gimli awoke, Legolas was able to present the Dwarf with a mug of hot tea. "Thankee, lad," the Nauga said gratefully. During the night it had grown chill, and the Dwarf shivered a little as he cupped the mug in both hands. "It will be warm enough soon," Eorþward said mordantly as he walked by with his own camp kettle. "Aye," Gimli said thoughtfully, eyeing his largest axe where it rested against his pack. They had easily dispatched eleven brigands the day before. If any threat remained, would it be equally as small or would he and his companions face a larger force? Outwardly, Gimli was all confidence, but for all his brashness, he was an experienced and pragmatic warrior who had no desire to throw away his life or the lives of his comrades.

Watching his friend, Legolas smiled. It had been months since Gimli had been able to fool the Elf with his bluster. Now Legolas knew the Dwarf to be as hard-headed as Aragorn when it came to matters of war. 'He is calculating our odds of encountering serious resistance', the Elf said to himself. Legolas was thus unsurprised when the Dwarf came to stand near him when they broke camp and the Elf knelt to examine the path they would follow.

"How many do you reckon, lad?" the Dwarf asked as Legolas studied several footprints. "It is difficult to say," the Elf replied. "This path has been trod by many, but I cannot tell whether most of the marks were laid down by a large group at one time or by a smaller number of Men who have passed back and forth over a period of days. It has rained little hereabouts, so the edges of older marks may be as sharp as those of more recent ones."

"You were able to tell the size of the band we fought yesterday."

"Aye, but that band for a time forged its own path, so as I studied the newly-laid track, it was easy to determine how many had walked upon it. That is not the case now."

Gimli grunted. "So we don't know what we are getting ourselves into."

"True—for the moment. When we draw near the encampment—if encampment there be—I shall reconnoiter. We will not rush blindly into battle."

Gimli nodded. Legolas arose and addressed Eorþward and his Men. "I shall follow the trail to descry any turn it might make. Meanwhile, you and Gimli travel parallel to the path, taking care to remain near cover. I shall signal should anyone approach."

"What of yourself, Master Elf," said one of the Men. "Will you remain in the open?"

Legolas shook his head. "There is cover near the trail sufficient to hide me should anyone approach. A company, however, would not be able to secrete itself in time to avoid discovery."

"I'll stay with you, lad," Gimli said unexpectedly.

"To follow the trail only one pair of eyes is necessary," Legolas pointed out.

"Aye, one pair of eyes to follow the trail, but a second one to look out for danger. Will you see a foe approaching if you are bent down studying the dirt?"

Legolas hesitated. On the one hand, he was sure he would sense the approach of danger, making Gimli's assistance unnecessary. On the other hand, if danger did arise, there would be both time and cover enough for both him and Gimli to hide themselves. He nodded. "Very well, Gimli. We shall traverse the trail together, you and I."

An ear-to-ear smile spread across Gimli's face. Legolas hid his own smile. 'Gimli has appointed himself my guardian', he thought fondly. 'Well, it will do no harm to humor him'.

Leaving a pair of villagers to guard the recovered horses, the Dunlendings split into two groups. Each band took to an opposite side of the trail and marched parallel to it, staying just close enough to keep Legolas and Gimli in sight. The Elf and the Dwarf walked on the trail itself, with Legolas a few paces in the lead. For two hours the company trekked in this fashion. At last Legolas heard distant voices. The sounds were too faint for anyone but the Elf to hear, but no one doubted him when he said they were approaching an encampment. Now Gimli went aside and joined Eorþward's band, for the Dwarf knew that he could not match Legolas in stealth and regretfully admitted to himself that, until battle was joined, he could help his friend no further.

As Gimli and the villagers crouched in hiding, Legolas stole through brush and crept behind boulders until he had a clear view of the camp. Its inhabitants were a mix of Men and half-goblins, and from their garb and manners, the Elf was at once certain that they were confederates of the brigands that he and his comrades had slain the day before. Quickly he set about counting their numbers. 'Twenty-one', he murmured to himself. 'Ten more than we faced yesterday. Still, we will have the advantage of surprise'. Legolas slipped away and returned to his comrades.

"There are twice as many as yesterday, more or less," he informed Gimli and the villagers.

"More or less?" said Eorþward sardonically. "Which is it?"

Legolas grinned. Eorþward reminded him of Halbarad. The Elf had always liked the Ranger, whose terse words had ranged from the ironic to the sarcastic. 'He didn't have much of a register', the Sinda laughed to himself. Aloud he said, "Twenty-one, if you would have me be precise."

"I would," replied Eorþward. "So it is less," the Man continued. "But," he added, his expression deadpan, "not by much."

Men, Elf, and Dwarf huddled and discussed the odds. A few of the Men were leery at the thought of attempting a force twice the size of the one they had previously battled. However, the most of them agreed with Eorþward that they would never have a better chance of destroying their enemies.

"We attack on our terms," the chieftain pointed out to his fellows. "If we wait, our foes will have an opportunity to recoup their lost numbers, and it is they who may choose the time and place of the next encounter. Do you want them to fall upon the village when it is ill protected—when the menfolk are away in the fields, perchance?"

The other villagers nodded. "Eorþward is right," said one. "That band will never be smaller than it is now, and we will take our enemies by surprise."

"Aye," agreed another. "And we have two warriors in our company. When the Elf and the Dwarf resume their journey, we will lose a mighty bow and a powerful axe. I am not ashamed to say that I welcome the aid of these folk!"

It is to the credit of Gimli that he did not preen, but Legolas noticed that the Dwarf stood a little straighter and that his chest grew a little broader as he proudly inhaled a great draught of air.

Their course agreed upon, the company disposed itself as formerly: two small bands to the side, a larger band downhill of the camp, and the largest band uphill.

"If our foes break and run, they likely will react like their fellows by fleeing higher up the mountain," Legolas said to Gimli as the two friends moved to take up their position above the encampment, giving it a wide berth as they circled around it.

"Good," grunted Gimli. "Perhaps today I'll actually have summat to do. I don't mean to stand around like no garden gnome!"

"Garden gnome?" inquired Legolas.

"Peculiar practice of some Men what live near Lake-town. They put little figurines in their vegetable gardens. Don't know why. Scarecrow 'ud be more useful, I reckon."

"Some Men pray to images of their gods. Perhaps these gnomes are idols," Legolas suggested.

Gimli snorted. "Garden gods," he said dismissively. Then he grinned. "Lettuce pray," he chortled.

"If you are going to utter dreadful puns," Legolas protested, "you might at least be original. It is hundreds of years since I first heard a human child pronounce that pun, and it was probably old even then."

Gimli opened his mouth, no doubt to utter another pun, but Legolas gestured for him to be silent. They had circled around the camp and gotten above their foes. It was now time to creep in closer.

As before, Legolas waited until he was certain that all the Dunlendings must be in place and then chirruped the song of a nuthatch. Within seconds, Legolas and Gimli heard the whir of arrows as Eorþward's archers released their missiles. Five of the enemy fell dead, but sixteen remained alive, some injured but the most of them unharmed. These surviving brigands did not immediately break and run; instead, showing more discipline than their fellows had on the previous day, they charged the Dunlendings on the downslope and were soon amidst the villagers' ranks. So intermingled were brigands and Dunlendings that Legolas and the archers on the flanks of the skirmish dared not fire their missiles into the swirl of hand-to-hand combat. Drawing his twin blades, Legolas leaped from cover and into the battle. A few steps behind him marched Gimli, who brandished his great axe and emitted roars only a little less terrifying than the blade that he swung.

The brigands were desperate and fought hard, but the Dunlendings were desperate, too. They knew that they must destroy their enemies or face renewed raiding. The villagers fought for their farms and families; the robbers fought for their lives, yes, but had no higher motives. Little by little the villagers felled each of their enemies. They had no mind to give quarter, and their foes had no mind to ask for it.

Legolas and Gimli had become separated in the mêlée, but the Elf heard the Dwarf bellow from time to time and was thus reassured of his safety. Dodging the blows of his enemies and returning them with deadly accuracy, Legolas ceased to concern himself about the Dwarf's well-being. Finally, however, he had felled his last opponent and again bethought himself of his friend. He was looking about for the Nauga when Eorþward shouted the Elf's name in warning. Legolas spun about just as Gimli leaped into the path of a knife that had been thrown by the leader of the brigands. Knowing that his life was about to end, the robber had wished to wreak vengeance upon an opponent, who, he rightly judged, was one of the leaders of the attacking band.

Eorþward strode over to the now-weaponless brigand chieftain and with one blow removed his head from his body. Legolas, meanwhile, knelt by the side of Gimli and carefully examined his wound. Gimli wore a chainmail hauberk that would have turned any knife, but the blade had struck him where the neck met the shoulder, in a gap between the hauberk and his helmet's ear guard.

"I won't be bested by no pointy-eared princeling," Gimli gasped. "We're even now!"

"Even?" said Legolas.

"Aye. Or have you forgotten how you took an arrow for me in Ithilien, that time what I wasn't wearing my hauberk but only a leather jerkin?"

Legolas shook his head. "I have not forgotten, but hush now, Gimli. Conserve your strength."

The wound had not cut the jugular—Gimli would already have been dead if it had—and that his windpipe was uninjured was proved by the Dwarf's ability to speak. Still, the wound was bleeding copiously. At length, Legolas stanched the flow of blow, but he continued anxious on Gimli's account. Infection was always a possibility. Moreover, Orcs were known to poison their blades, and the dead robber chieftain was a half-goblin.

Eorþward had come to stand by the injured Dwarf. "Is his wound serious?" he asked.

"Gimli is weak from loss of blood," Legolas replied. "It is to be hoped that the knife was not poisoned and that the wound does not become infected."

"We will ask the gods to look upon him with favor," Eorþward. He raised his arms and gazed at the sky. "Let us pray," he intoned earnestly.

In spite of his wound, Gimli smirked at Legolas. 'Lettuce pray', he mouthed at the Elf. Legolas ignored him. Gimli tried again. "'Twould be grand if Gandalf would turnip," he said with an innocent air. "Why, I reckon he would stalk into this camp and get at the root of my ailment."

"Orange you ashamed of yourself?" Legolas said suddenly. He found it hard to maintain his dislike of puns in the face of Gimli's good humor, which he took to be a sign that the Dwarf would recover.

"Can you give me a raisin why I should be ashamed?" Gimli retorted.

"It is fruitless to engage in debate with you," Legolas shot back.

"In a nutshell, I do not give a fig, for you are—a nut!" Gimli replied cheerfully.

"If I am a nut, then I am a hard one to crack," Legolas sallied, more lighthearted by the minute. "But, enough, Gimli," he added, forcing himself to remember that the Dwarf was not yet out of danger. "It is plain that your wound is not serious in and of itself, but you must rest so that you will be strong enough to stave off infection or the ill effects of poison, if any there be."

"As you wish, Legolas," Gimli agreed. "I wish there to be peas between us," the Dwarf added mischievously.

"Gimli," Legolas chided gently as he built a fire to keep his friend warm.

"Berry well," Gimli said sweetly, getting in one last pun before he closed his eyes. The Dwarf only lay still a little while, however. "Leak," he suddenly muttered, opening his eyes again.

"Leek!" Legolas exclaimed in pretended exasperation. "Are you still going on about vegetable puns?"

"No. _**Leak!**_" gasped the Nauga.

"Yes, leek. Or as it is sometimes called, the ramp.

"I don't need no ramp," Gimli moaned.

"Of course you don't," Legolas said soothingly. "At the moment you are neither climbing up nor climbing down."

Gimli groaned. "Durned Elf! I need to _**take**_ a leak.

"Oh," said Legolas, momentarily thrown. "You are not punning?"

"No, I am _**not**_. Although," the Dwarf added acerbically, "I assure you that if I do not soon take a piss, I will be _**taking the piss**_ at your expense for months to come."

"_**Now**_ you are punning." Legolas deadpanned, recovering quickly and helping his friend stand up. Carefully he guided Gimli around a boulder so that the Dwarf might have a bit of privacy, then he politely turned and looked away as his friend relieved the pressure on his bladder. The Dwarf let out a satisfied sigh. "Now," he declared jovially, emphasizing his words, "I shall again _**plant**_ myself in a _**bed**_."

"You will be sage indeed if you devote some thyme to marshaling your strength," Legolas replied as he helped his friend back to his place beside the fire. "By doing so, you shall keep further injury at bay."

Eorþward and the Men sitting nearby rolled their eyes at the renewal of punning. "It seems, that we are saddled with a pear of warriors who are determined to pepper their speech with puns," said Eorþward, smiling for once. "Although I must say," he added, "that they do not seem to be able to mint new ones.

"I would that those two would squash all temptation to pun further," called one.

"That is unlikely to happen," said another, "for each is anxious to beet the other in witticisms."

"In that respect they are as alike as two peas in a pod," called a fourth.

"That's a simile, not a pun," Legolas objected merrily.

"Honeyed words, whether simile or pun," laughed Eorþward.

"It is said that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar," volunteered one of the villagers.

"And _**that**_, my friend," grinned Legolas, "is neither a simile nor a pun but a proverb."

Whether pun or not, all wordplay came to an end as Gimli began to snore, which was taken as a general signal that it was time for 'taps'. Men spread out their bedrolls. Legolas had slipped his own blanket under Gimli's head to provide his friend with a pillow. Eorþward offered the Elf his cloak, but the Sinda politely declined, for he had no mind to sleep. He was reassured by Gimli's cheerfulness and loquacity, but he still intended to keep a nightlong vigil by his friend's side. Eorþward nodded his understanding and went to set the watch, leaving orders that Legolas was not to be called upon for that duty. "He will tend to his comrade," he said to the sentries. "See that he is brought anything he needs during the night."

The next morning Gimli was a little feverish. He swore he could walk, but Legolas insisted that he remain in camp for at least another night. The Elf left his friend in the care of Eorþward while he scouted further up the mountain. He found no signs that any enemies were near. Returning to the camp, he reported to Eorþward. "I think it would be safe for our force to divide," he told the chieftain. "It is not good that your farms be long left untended and your families unguarded. Leave only a handful of Men with Gimli and me and let all the others return at once to their homes."

First, though, it was necessary to search the brigands' camp and divide the treasure they had amassed. There was very little gold and silver—the robbers had been preying upon the poor—but to a farmer steel is valuable, and there was much of that, chiefly in the form of daggers and sword blades. There were also objects made of iron, bronze, and pewter, the latter mainly dishes, such as basins and tankards. Even these were valuable to the Dunlendings. The villagers also divided such foodstuffs as could be conveyed in their packs. Last, there were several barrels of pipe-weed. The Dunlendings had in common with the Men of Breeland the habit of indulging in the weed, but they had lately been deprived of that pleasure.

"It has been long since any pipe-weed has passed through this land," Eorþward observed as he rolled a swatch of leaves through his fingers. "We used to trade for it with folks who ventured to Bree, but lately traders have returned from that place empty handed. The Breeland merchants say there is little to be had, and that of poor quality. What stock they lay their hands on they sell to their own people. They have none to spare for 'foreyners', as they style us. But this—this is Longbottom Leaf. See the Hornblower brandmarks on the barrels? The brigands have somehow contrived to lay their hands not on pipe-weed alone but on the very finest of leaf."

Legolas remembered what Aragorn had said when Pippin and Merry had shared with the Dúnadan and the Dwarf the pipe-weed that the two young Hobbits had discovered in the storerooms of Isengard. To acquire it, Saruman must have had secret dealings with someone in the Shire, the Ranger had said. "Wormtongues may be found in other houses than King Theoden's," he had added somberly, and he had made sure to tell Gandalf of the matter. 'Whatever agent Saruman relied upon', Legolas said to himself, 'he is likely still secreted somewhere in the Shire. The date stamped upon the barrels is one year more recent than that on the barrels Merry and Pippin scavenged at Isengard. They have therefore been shipped but lately'. The brigands might have stolen the barrels from a caravan of traders, Legolas mused, but was that likely, given that Eorþward had said that no pipe-weed was available for sale in Breeland? No, Legolas decided. It was likelier that the brigands had a source from within the Shire itself.

Legolas remembered also a reason why Elrond had at first been unwilling that Merry and Pippin should join the Fellowship. The Sinda had not been present when Elrond met with Gandalf, Aragorn, and the Hobbits, but Aragorn had told him of the words of the Master of Rivendell. "Elrond said he forebode that the Shire was not free from peril," the Dúnadan had reported. "He desired to send back Merry and Pippin as messengers to warn their folk of danger," the Dúnadan continued.

Suddenly Legolas was anxious to press on with his and Gimli's journey. Gandalf and the Hobbits were traveling toward the Shire. The brigands' access to pipe-weed, Elrond's forebodings—Legolas was certain that danger awaited his friends in the land of the Halflings.


	64. Chapter 64: Many Meetings

**My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers of Chapter 63: **_**CAH, Enna Namo, L.A.H.H., Lasette-1982, leralonde, Ne'ith5, Pghj2005, **_**and **_**ziggy3**_**.**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit **_**and**_** The Lord of the Rings**_**. The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as **_**The Silmarillion**_**. **

**Most of the riddles in Legolas and Bilbo's riddle competition were taken from the chapter "Riddles in the Dark" in **_**The Hobbit**_**. The second-to-last riddle that Legolas poses to Bilbo is an adaptation of a translation of an Old English Riddle published in ****Kevin Crossley-Holland's **_**The Exeter Book of Riddles**_**. I have previously used this riddle in ****"Riddles," the final chapter of **_**Dol Goldur**_**.**** The riddle Bilbo tells in return is quoted directly, without alteration, from another riddle translated by Crossley-Holland in **_**The Exeter Book of Riddles**_**. The description of Bilbo's reaction to Legolas's last riddle is based on one sentence from "Riddles in the Dark," **_**The Hobbit**_**, and another from the chapter ****"Many Meetings," Book II, LOTR.**

**Chapter 64: Many Meetings**

Gimli's fever continued three days. All that while, Legolas nursed his friend patiently and said nothing to him about his fears for Gandalf and the Hobbits. 'Gimli will not mend the sooner if I say anything to him', the Elf observed to himself. 'Indeed, if he frets, it may delay his recovery'. At last, however, the fever broke, and Gimli, who by now was himself 'chafing at the bit', insisted that they resume their journey. Accompanied by the handful of villagers who had been left to guard the injured warrior and his friend, the Elf and the Dwarf retraced their steps down the mountain until they reached their horse, which nickered joyfully at seeing them approach. Gimli was for once able to sympathize with the steed. "The poor beast has grown tired of staring at the same rocks," the Nauga said, patting the horse on its muzzle with as much gentleness as he could muster.

"Aye, and weary of this poor mountain grass," Legolas agreed.

Although the foraging was meager, Legolas could see that the Dunlending who had been left in charge of Arod had moved the horse several times so that he had been able to crop what grass there was. Thanking the Man with both words and a coin, Legolas helped Gimli mount the stallion. The Elf himself would walk. As they were not yet at the base of the mountain, the footing was still poor, so he would lead the horse until they regained the valley.

Once at the foot of the mountain, the two friends said farewell to their escort of Dunlendings. "I shall send word to the King in Minas Tirith that you have been attacked by foes and have bravely defended yourselves," Legolas promised. "When he can spare troops, doubtless he will send men to patrol your borders."

The Dunlendings looked doubtful. It had been long since any king had come to their aid. However, they politely thanked Legolas for his words. As it happened, the Elf spoke the truth. Aragorn did dispatch soldiers to protect Dunland. Respecting the borders of the land, never setting foot in it save at the invitation of the village chieftains, these warriors created a cordon around Dunland through which brigands dared not pass. Under the protection of the king, the Dunlendings prospered until they had a surplus of foodstuffs and crafts sufficient to engage in widespread trade. They traveled to the south to sell their wares in Gondor, and they passed through the Gap of Rohan to chaffer with the Rohirrim. They journeyed to the north to sell their goods to the Elves of Rivendell until those folks departed for the West, and from Imladris their traders pressed onward, via the East-West Road, to Breeland. After a while, their numbers multiplying along with their wealth, the Dunlendings began to intermarry with the folk of Bree, Combe, and Archet, and the descendants of these unions settled in lands that had long been desolate. Prosperous settlements of folk descended from Breelanders and Dunlendings were to be found near the Barrow Downs east of the Baranduin, as well as in the vicinity of the adjacent South Downs. Other settlements were to be found above Fornost, near the North Downs, and to the east, between the Weather Hills and the Etten Moors. So through the generosity and foresight of Aragorn, a consider portion of Eriador and the Lost Realm of Arnor was repopulated.

For now, though, the people were beset and impoverished, and Legolas and Gimli found excuses to hand out the last of their coins to purchase water skins and provisions for which they had no need. Shaking hands with their hosts, the Elf and the Dwarf rode off, making directly for Rivendell, following the path that they knew their friends had taken in hopes of overtaking them. Legolas had not shared his fears with Gimli about whatever threat might be found in the Shire, but privately he worried. 'I hope we will be in time to warn our friends', he thought to himself. He knew that Gandalf might be in no hurry and therefore happy to remain in Rivendell for many weeks, but he expected that the Hobbits—especially Frodo—would be eager to press on.

After parting from the Dunlendings, Gimli and Legolas's journey passed without incident until at last they stood they stood at the head of the steep trail upon the slope at whose foot stood Rivendell. Legolas had insisted on stopping to gather athelas leaves whenever he spied that plant in case his friend's fever should return; otherwise, they had not delayed for any reason.

"Do you know, Legolas," the Dwarf exclaimed excitedly as he gazed at the small pinpricks of light that flickered far below, "I could almost believe that I hear singing!"

"Why should that surprise you?" Legolas teased. "You have the ears of—"

"A fox," interjected Gimli. "Yes, yes, I know, but even a fox would be hard put to hear singing at such a distance. I reckon it must be my imagination. Still and all, I deem that my hearing as a rule is now superior to what it was when I set out with the Fellowship. Is such a thing possible?"

"We have both of us altered in several ways," Legolas answered thoughtfully. "I know for a fact that my vision has improved."

"You can see farther?"

"No," replied Legolas. "But I can see more clearly—much, much more clearly."

As the Elf spoke, he smiled fondly at his friend, upon whose face he saw the courage and loyalty that previously had been obscured by a bushy, ill-kempt beard. The beard was still there, true, but Legolas was no longer deceived by it. 'For years', the Elf said to himself, 'I followed Aragorn in spite of his muddy boots and his stained cloak. Gimli is no different—rough in appearance but brave and virtuous. He would die for me—as I would die for him. Truly we are as much blood-brothers as any two born of the same womb'.

The two friends began their descent. As they rode, they talked eagerly of the food and drink, story and song, that awaited them. Gimli allowed as how he was even looking forward to a bath—'but, mind you, with none of those fancy unguents what you favor', he added quickly. 'A good, stiff soap, what will properly cut through the muck—that will do!'

"I am sure we can find something suitable', Legolas said, straight-faced. 'Perhaps', he added slyly, 'one of the hostlers will be able to furnish something out of the store of soap used to clean and refurbish saddles'.

Gimli was unfazed by the Elf's teasing. "Something for a saddle? Aye, for I am tough as leather! I am not some prissy, pointy-eared princeling what must be steeped in salves and lotions and ointments lest his precious pelt dry out and crack," he exclaimed jauntily.

Legolas laughed and then checked their horse. "Elladan! Elrohir!" he called. A few seconds later those two Elves rode around a bend in the trail. "We spied you when you crested the mountain and decided to greet you," Elladan called back. Gimli twisted in the saddle and looked back at the now-distant mountain top. Then he twisted back and gazed down at the still-distant valley. He shook his head wonderingly. "It's uncanny," he muttered. "Why, from that dell we couldn't have appeared to be much more than specks."

Legolas heard him mutter and grinned. "Elladan and Elrohir are like you, Gimli. They have the eyes of a hawk."

"If _**they**_ have the eyes of a hawk," Gimli answered, "then _**I**_ must have the eyes of a lesser bird. I won't deny it, lad: their vision is far superior to mine."

Legolas was dumbfounded. First Gimli had proclaimed himself looking forward to taking a bath; now he was conceding that an Elf's vision might be better than his.

"Truly the Third Age _**has**_ come to an end," the Sinda murmured. "For nothing in the world has been left unaltered. Not even the most obstinate of Dwarves has been left unchanged."

"I heard that," growled the Dwarf in question. "I have conceded in the matter of eyesight only. My hearing remains as acute as ever. I have the ears of—"

"—a fox," Legolas laughed. His friend had not, after all, altered in the essentials.

Listening to the exchange, both Elladan and Elrohir chuckled. They had never shared Legolas's antipathy toward Gimli, and they were glad that the two had become friends.

"Mithrandir told us that you two are now as twins, joined at the hip as strongly as ever Elladan and I have been," Elrohir observed. "It is plain that the wizard spoke the truth."

"Gandalf has arrived safely, then," Legolas said eagerly. "I shall be glad to see him, for we have much to tell."

"He arrived safely, yes," Elladan picked up the tale, "but he and the Periannath have already departed. You have been long on the road, gwador-nín."

"Then we will stay at Rivendell only one night and resume our journey tomorrow," Legolas declared, "for I must warn Gandalf that he and the Hobbits may be traveling toward danger."

"He needs no such warning," Elrohir said. "Troubling tales had reached our father of an evil that festers in the Shire. Yet Mithrandir was not surprised by this news. He had already concluded that all was not well, for Estel had told him of a cache of pipe weed at Isengard, and this caused him to suspect that a traitor was hidden within the Shire."

"Yes, Estel suspected that Saruman had suborned someone in the Shire or in Breeland, for how else to account for the presence of pipe weed in Isengard? For several generations, no one in either the Shire or Breeland had traded openly with folk to the south, Dunland having been a barrier to travel in that direction. But, Elrohir, it matters not that Gandalf is aware of the danger; Gimli and I wish to stand by his side when he confronts it."

"Mithrandir won't be confronting any danger in the Shire," Elladan said calmly.

Legolas gave his foster-brother a puzzled look. "Elladan, you are not making any sense," he exclaimed. "Elrohir has just said that Gandalf and your father both suspect that something is amiss in the Shire. Surely Gandalf will defy this latest threat to Middle-earth."

"That would follow only if Mithrandir intends to journey to the Shire," observed Elrohir. "This he will not do. Frodo set out from his home in Hobbiton accompanied only by his Halfling friends, and Mithrandir means for him to return the same way."

"Gandalf never wished for Frodo to set out without him," Legolas pointed out. "He was imprisoned in Isengard by that traitor Saruman, else he would have accompanied Frodo every step of the way from Hobbiton to Rivendell."

"Yes, he would have, for Frodo and his companions were yet untested. That is no longer the case. I am sure that your friends will manage to deal with whatever danger they encounter in the Shire—and it is important that they do so in order to learn their own strength. You know that Mithrandir will not long remain in Middle-earth, now his task is complete. It shall therefore be up to Frodo and the others to show their folk that they can protect themselves from those who would do them harm—and how will they do that if they have a wizard to run to?"

"Elladan is right," Gimli said.

"Elrohir," Legolas corrected. "It is Elrohir who has been speaking just now."

"Well, Elladan was _**thinking**_ the same notion," retorted Gimli. "It don't make no never mind which of 'em speak aloud, for they are of one mind. And now let _**us**_ be of one mind, you and I. We shan't be running off in the morning to follow no Hobbits what don't need our aid. Wouldn't do no good, and Gandalf wouldn't like it."

"What would you have us do, then, Gimli?"

"Stay at Rivendell for a piece. Eat, drink, make merry with song and story, and sleep in comfortable beds. Oh, and you can bathe as much as you like."

"I thought you were going to bathe, too, Gimli."

"Oh, I will—_**once**_," Gimli replied cheerfully.

Elrohir pretended to gag. Gimli chortled. "Not very elegant, Elrohir," he said gleefully "Or Elladan. Whichever."

The twins glanced at each other. "I know what you are thinking," Legolas laughed. "You are wondering what tricks you may play on Gimli that depend upon his confusing the two of you. But I will not let you plague my friend! Gimli, these two are not altogether identical. See how Elladan favors his right hand whilst Elrohir favors his left? And look closely at their height and girth. Elladan is broader in the shoulders, but Elrohir is the taller of the two. In hair, too, they are slightly dissimilar. Elrohir's hair is a bit darker than Elladan's. If you look very carefully at them, they shall not be able to fool you."

"Have you forgotten that upon one occasion we were able to fool both Glorfindel and our father?" retorted Elrohir.

"I have not forgotten," said Legolas. "But," he continued, "I also have not forgotten that you remained at a distance from both, kept your heads lowered, and spoke indistinctly. It also helped save you from discovery that it did not occur to them that you might be switching places. Gimli, however, has been put on his guard. Should you try to play any tricks upon him, remember that he will be scrutinizing you carefully!"

"Now, that is unkind of you, Legolas, to deprive us of an opportunity to amuse ourselves," complained Elladan.

"I am sure," Legolas replied drily, "that you shall find some other way of entertaining yourselves. You are both very inventive in that respect."

By now the company was nearing their destination, and Elves, laughing and singing, materialized beside the trail and hailed the travelers.

"Legolas, I hope you have brought back some interesting tales," called Lindir.

"I have—unless Gandalf and the Hobbits have already told them all," Legolas called back.

"Oh, Mithrandir spent most of his time closeted with Elrond," Lindir returned. "As for the Periannath, Bilbo was so greedy for news that for most of their stay he kept them close. I am certain that you may regale us with stories that will be new to us."

"Then I shall try to oblige you," replied Legolas. "My companion, too, has many exciting tales to tell. If the Orcs he has hewn had been cord word, all the cook fires in Rohan could have been kept burning for twelve months and a day."

"It is said that there are no finer axes than those wielded by Dwarves," Elladan pronounced solemnly.

At these words, Gimli, who deep within still harbored some skepticism toward the Fair Folk, abandoned all doubts as to their goodness and wisdom. Henceforth he loved not only one Elf in particular but all Elves in general.

By now they had reined up before the entrance to the Great Hall, where Elrond awaited them. "You are welcome here, Gimli son of Glóin. You are welcome here, Legolas Thranduilion," proclaimed Elrond, his smile belying the formality of his greeting.

A hostler stepped forward to tend to their horse, and another Elf took charge of their luggage (a very small item). The two were ushered to a bathing chamber, where two tubs of warm water awaited them. Legolas noticed with amusement that a stiff brush and a single bar of soap had been placed on a bench next to Gimli's tub while a soft wash clout and several jars of oils and unguents were laid out on the Elf's bench.

Also on the benches were fresh clothes. "These garments fit perfectly," Gimli observed appreciatively as he buttoned the tunic. "Do Elrond's people usually keep dwarvish clothing on hand? I would not have thought that Dwarves visited here frequently enough to make it worthwhile to keep such garments at the ready."

"Elrond hosted Dwarves at Rivendell even when relations between our peoples were at their lowest ebb, as they were when he welcomed Thórin Oakenshield and his companions to this Hall," Legolas said.

"Yes," Gimli said ruefully, "and I should have remembered that, for my father was one of those companions. Yet I have always chosen to dwell on the harsh reception accorded him by the Elves of Mirkwood rather than the generous welcome he received in Rivendell."

Legolas flinched. "I _**am**_ sorry," he said, abashed.

"No! No! No! I did not mean to make you feel ashamed, Legolas. The mistakes of the fathers ought not to be visited upon the sons. That is just the sort of stupidity what has kept this stupid feud going for centuries—ancient grievances dredged up by folk what neither committed nor suffered from the original offense. If offense there was," the Dwarf added, "which is by no means certain. But even if there _**was**_ an offense, wouldn't that be 'past tents'?"

"Past tense," smiled Legolas.

"Past tense," agreed Gimli eagerly. "Which is as much to say, tension what ought to be kept in the past."

Legolas groaned. "If you are going to pun again—" he began.

Gimli grinned. "So," he said slyly, "I have hit upon something what will get under that flawless skin of yours—puns!"

Legolas was holding a bottle in which remained a little fragrant oil. Impulsively, he upended the bottle over Gimli's head. As the Dwarf spluttered, the oil drizzled down his nose and dripped into his beard.

"This action that I have performed is now in the past," Legolas said sweetly, "so I trust you shall forgive me for any offense."

Gimli stared at him balefully, but only for a moment. He began to chuckle. "Now there's a clever lad," he said appreciatively. "Of course," he added grandly, "that is to be expected, as you have been going about with me and have clearly imbrued some of my wit. If you continue in my company, be sure that you shall become quite brilliant."

"Imbibed," Legolas said.

"What?"

"You have _**imbibed**_ some of my wit."

"No, _**you**_ have imbibed some of _**my**_ wit."

"Correct," agreed Legolas. He was, of course, referring to the grammar and not the sentiment, but he knew it would be bootless to point that out. Instead, he smiled at his friend, and Gimli, triumphant, beamed back at him.

Their debate having reached its amiable conclusion, the two friends strolled toward the dining hall and took their place on the dais with Elrond's household. Elrohir sniffed the air as they took their seats. "Legolas," he grinned, "I know you are fastidious, but I believe you are overdoing it with the bath oil. It smells as if you have drenched yourself in it!"

"It's not me! It's Gimli!" Legolas protested.

"For shame, Legolas, blaming your friend," Elladan said. "We all know that Gimli abhors bath oil."

"No, truly! It is Gimli who smells," Legolas avowed.

Erestor caught the last part of the conversation and cleared his throat. "Legolas," he chided, "it is not polite to say such a thing about a guest. I thought I taught you better than that."

"I didn't say that he smells—I mean I did say that, but I didn't mean _**that**_," Legolas stammered, his usual eloquence deserting him. Gimli smirked and leaned toward him. "I could tell them," he whispered, "that I am the fragrant one, but that would also mean telling them the trick you played upon me. Which would you prefer, O pointy-eared princeling—to be judged childish or to be deemed impolite?"

Legolas considered. Childish, he thought, might be deemed akin to childlike, and for an Elf the latter was not considered a failing. 'Anyway', he said to himself, 'I already have a reputation for playing tricks, so if folk learn I have played another one, their opinion of me will not be altered in the least'. "Childish," he whispered to Gimli. "You may tell them I have been childish."

The Dwarf cleared his throat dramatically. "We Dwarves abhor injustice," he proclaimed. "So I must not sit by while aspirations are cast upon my friend's character."

"Aspersions," Legolas whispered.

"Or, as I meant to say, aspersions," Gimli continued cheerfully. "I must not sit by while aspersions are cast upon my friend's character. He was telling the truth when he declared that I was the one what smelled of bath oil. For it was he himself what poured that bath oil upon me, when, realizing that he was o'ermatched logic-wise, in a fit of pick—"

"Pique," Legolas said softly.

"—fit of pique," continued Gimli, "he upended a battle of bath oil over my head. But I forgive him," he concluded grandly.

"That is very magnanimous of you, Gimli son of Glóin," observed Elrond, who was struggling to keep his eyebrows in check.

"Noble," declared Glorfindel.

"Charitable," chimed in Erestor.

Legolas sighed and rolled his eyes. "Legolas—" Erestor began disapprovingly.

"Yes, yes, I know," Legolas interrupted. "Do not roll your eyes!"

"First," lectured Erestor, "_**I**_ am not the one rolling my eyes. Second—do not interrupt your elders!"

Elladan and Elrohir were hunched over their plates. Their faces were hidden, but their shaking shoulders revealed both to be in the grip of a fit of silent laughter.

"Posture," Erestor muttered as he stared disapprovingly at the two young Elves.

Oblivious now to the domestic drama at play about him, Gimli was working on his third helping of salted pork. There was no fear that he would devour another's portion, for none of the Elves were eating of the strongly-flavored meat, which the Cook had prepared solely for the Dwarf's delectation. Repressing the impulse to sigh anew, Legolas picked up his spoon and began to eat of the dish that the Cook had placed before him with a flourish and a meaningful glance. Soon the young Elf began to forget his discomfiture, for the Cook had remembered how fond the Sinda was of shell pea soup. The peas were fresh, the stock flavored with mint and chive, shallot and thyme. Legolas had to struggle to remind himself to sip slowly, as befit an Elf dining at Elrond's table. 'I did not want to be considered childish', he said to himself, 'but perhaps I should not be so desirous of avoiding the epithet. Certainly the Cook thinks me childish, for he indulges me as if I were an elfling—and that is not a bad thing!'

His spirits restored, Legolas was soon laughing with the other Elves as Gimli, his appetite satisfied by ham, as well as by copious helpings of cheese and bread and clotted cream, all washed down with ale brought up from Elrond's cellars especially for him, launched into a lengthy and droll narrative of his many adventures, in which almost single-handedly he saved Middle-earth from the Dark Lord and his allies. "How those scurvy Orcs scuttled when they heard the roar of my war cry," the Dwarf bragged. "Like cockroaches they were—scurrying up columns and creeping into crevices. They could not stand before the axe of a Nauga!"

"There was a Balrog," Legolas reminded him.

"Within seconds there was not an Orc to be seen," Gimli continued, blithely ignoring the interruption.

"A Balrog of Morgoth," Legolas said _sotto voce_.

"Now, the Orcs having been put to flight," Gimli continued as if Legolas had not spoken, "the Company had to cross the Bridge of Khazad-dûm. To reach it, though, we were forced to traverse another span, and it was in ill repair. We had to leap over a huge fissure. Aragorn wanted to toss me, but would I let him? No! For as I said, 'Nobody tosses a Dwarf'. So I made a death-defying leap, I did. We Dwarves are natural leapers! Very dangerous over deep chasms!"

"Beard," Legolas murmured slyly.

"By Durin's beard, I must have been a grand sight as I flew through the air," Gimli continued unperturbed. "Rather like the scene when I leaped onto the causeway before the stronghold at Helm's Deep. Uruk-hai were trying to break through the gate when I made that leap. Fearsome creatures, Uruk-hai. Larger than the usual Orc. But they couldn't daunt _**me**_. Easy to cut 'em off at the knee. Some folk might think the Uruk-hai would have the advantage, being tall and all. Howsomever, what folk forget is that the added height brings the beasts' knees level with the swing of my axe."

"When you say that you cut your enemies off at the knee, you mean that you _**literally**_ cut them off at the knee," Elrohir exclaimed, impressed.

"Of course! We Dwarves be plain speakers what don't indulge in metaphoristical flourishes. In compactness of body and brevity of tongue, we Dwarves excel. Those what are too long of limb and speech have reason to know this!"

Gimli looked challengingly at Legolas, but the Elf, nibbling on a biscuit that the Cook had surreptitiously place beside his plate, was too contented to take umbrage at the Dwarf's latest sally.

Elrond arose. "You have been generous in entertaining us with your stories, friend Gimli. You must allow us to reciprocate. Come. In the Hall of Fire we shall repay your tales with our ballads whilst you soothe your dry throat with mead."

Gimli would have willingly regaled his hosts for several more hours. At the mention of mead, however, it occurred to him that the Elves might wish to better their own tale-telling skills, and what better occasion than now? 'I am an estimable judge of stories', he said to himself. 'No doubt the Elves know this, and they are desirous to see whether they can tell tales that meet my high standards'.

Graciously Gimli inclined his head in acknowledgement of Elrond's invitation, and the company repaired to the Hall of Fire. In one corner a small figure sat nodding on a stool. Legolas approached him. "Bilbo," he said softly. The agéd Hobbit lifted his head from his chest. "Legolas, my lad," he murmured. "Gandalf said you would return. Went on a holiday, he said. Visited the Glittering Caves and the Forest of Fangorn. Wish I could have gone."

The Hobbit yawned. "Still, I suppose I should not pine. Gandalf does promise that he shall take me on a journey by and by. With Frodo, too. Should like to travel in his company. Good lad, Frodo. Though he did lose my ring. What do you think of that, eh, Legolas, losing something so precious?"

"There are many things more precious than that ring," Legolas replied gently. "Your love for Frodo and his love for you—that is more precious than any such trinket."

"Well, it _**was**_ gold," Bilbo said a trifle defensively.

"Fool's gold," Legolas said firmly.

"Fool's gold? Eh, a pun. I like puns. Riddles, too. Here's one: What has roots as nobody sees, is taller than trees, up, up it goes, and yet never grows?"

Legolas had heard Bilbo pose this riddle many times, but he pretended to think hard. "Mountain?" he said at last, trying to sound uncertain.

"Clever lad!" cried Bilbo. "Now you ask me one."

Legolas smiled. "Thirty white horses on a red hill," he recited. "First they champ, then they stamp, then they stand still."

Bilbo chuckled. "Teeth," he cried. "And I have got all mine, too. Not like Gollum, the poor blighter. He said he had only six, although they looked sharp enough. My turn again. The teeth have put me in mind of this one. Voiceless it cries, wingless flutters, toothless bites, mouthless mutters."

Careful not to answer too quickly, Legolas at last ventured the answer 'wind'.

"Excellent!" exclaimed Bilbo. "It is a pleasure having you back, Legolas. Nobody else seems to be up to the challenge."

Legolas caught Elrond's eyes, and the two exchanged a smile over the head of the Hobbit. Legolas wondered how many times the Elves of Elrond's household had patiently sat through this game. Equally patient, he returned to the riddling match.

"Try this one, Bilbo: An eye in a blue face saw an eye in a green face. 'That eye is like to this eye' said the first eye, 'but in low place, not in high place'."

As Legolas spoke, he was glad that he could see in his mind's eye the beauty evoked by this riddle rather than the red-ringed eye of Sauron.

Bilbo chuckled anew. "Daisy," he exclaimed, his delight childlike. "Now here is one for you: It cannot be seen, cannot be felt, cannot be heard, cannot be smelt. It lies behind stars and under hills, and empty holes it fills. It comes first and follows after, ends life, kills laughter."

After a suitable delay so that he might appear to be thinking hard, Legolas offered the answer. "Is it 'dark'?"

"It is indeed—but not to me," exclaimed the delighted Hobbit. "Now you ask one!"

"A box without hinges, key, or lid, yet golden treasure inside is hid," Legolas recited.

"Egg," Bilbo replied promptly. "Really, Legolas, that was no challenge at all."

"My turn," he went on. "Alive without breath, as cold as death; never thirsty, ever drinking, all in mail never clinking."

This was of course a riddle for 'fish', an answer that Legolas provided after a decent interval. "Now I shall ask you a hard one," he warned the Hobbit laughingly.

"Pooh! Do your worst. I am a master at riddling."

"He should be," whispered Glorfindel, who had wandered over to watch the contest. "He never tires of rehearsing the same riddles over and over again."

This had always seemed a harmless foible in the Hobbit, but suddenly it occurred to Legolas to wonder at it.

"Legolas!" Bilbo cried impatiently. "You must pose me a riddle, as I have posed you one."

'Yes', Legolas said to himself. 'You _**have**_ posed me a riddle'. Aloud he said, "No-legs lay on one-leg, two-legs sat near on three-legs, four-legs got some."

"Silly Elf," scolded Bilbo, gesturing at the small table by his elbow. Upon it sat a plate with an odd bone or two; underneath it sat a satisfied cat cleaning its whiskers. "The answer is as obvious as the dinner that Figwit fetched me: fish on a little table, man at table sitting on a stool, the cat has the bones. _**I **_shall ask a harder one than _**that**_."

"Put me to the test, Bilbo."

"I shall! This thing all things devours: birds, beasts, trees, flowers; gnaws iron, bites steel; grinds hard stones to meal; slays king, ruins town, and beats high mountain down."

The old Hobbit looked expectantly at Legolas. "You must give me more time," the Elf said slyly.

"Oh, you scamp," exclaimed the Hobbit. "You cannot deceive me. You know very well that the answer is 'time'. Well, well, time. It will soon be time, I think, for me to retire. Quick! Ask me another riddle! Surely on your travels you have learned one that we have not hitherto rehearsed."

Legolas thought of a riddle that Elrohir had taught him. He grinned. "A wondrous thing, a splendid thing under a garment, hangs by a man's thigh. It has an opening in its front. It is stiff and hard. Its firmness is a virtue. When the man hitches up his own robe over his knees, he desires to touch with this hanging head that familiar hole that it oft has filled before."

"Still a scamp! That riddle masquerades as something naughty, but I know the answer, and it is an innocent one. Key! Well, I can play that game as well. I here requite you: I'm told a certain something grows in its pouch, swells and stands up, lifts its covering. A proud bride grasped that boneless wonder, the daughter of a king covered that swollen thing with clothing."

This riddle sounded as salacious as the one Legolas had posed, and the Elf was certain that the answer would prove to be just as anticlimactic, in a manner of speaking. But ponder as he might, he could not seem to hit upon the solution.

"Come on!" said Bilbo. "I am waiting!"

Unconsciously, Legolas's hand went to the pouch that hung upon his belt. "Dough!" he said abruptly. "Bread dough!"

"Yes," laughed Bilbo. "Dough it is. But tell me, lad, how did you happen upon the answer?"

"More to the point," retorted Legolas, "where did you learn that riddle?"

"If you must know, I learned it from Halbarad."

"Halbarad!" Legolas had difficulty imagining the dour, reticent Ranger indulging in riddles at all, let alone bawdy ones.

"Yes, Halbarad. You must not judge by appearance. Don't you remember the poem about Aragorn, the one that began, 'All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost'? Well, Halbarad was a case in point. Grim-faced though he was, after a few pipes and as many pints, he could be most communicative, not to mention entertaining."

Legolas was glad to hear that the taciturn Ranger had enjoyed moments of merriment, however brief they must have been. A bell sounded just then.

"Ah, the gates of Rivendell will soon be closed. I am up much later than usual. I should to bed. Legolas, I asked the first riddle, so you may ask the last one."

Legolas looked at Bilbo's face. It bore an intense expression far different from the languid one of the agéd Hobbit who had been drowsing upon a stool. "What have I got in my pocket?" the Elf blurted out impulsively.

Bilbo startled. Apparently the game had never ended this way. "Not fair! not fair!" he hissed. Suddenly the Hobbit was a little wrinkled creature with bony groping hands, and Legolas recoiled from him. The Halfling's hungry face reminded the Elf of the creature that Aragorn had captured and dragged to Mirkwood for Gandalf to question.

The room had fallen silent, and Legolas was horrified to find that his hand was clenched into a fist. Bilbo had folded his own hands in his lap, and his head was bowed. He looked up and forced a laugh. "Not fair, Legolas, for you haven't got pockets," he said as if that had been his objection all along. "You wear leggings and a tunic and have never possessed neither jacket nor weskit."

"True," said Legolas, opening his fist.

"Now, if you were to ask me," Bilbo continued, "what you have got in that pouch of yours, well, that would be fair, I reckon."

"It is late," Legolas objected. "It is time to end this game."

"No! no!" protested Bilbo. "I do not want to end it in this fashion."

"Very well," Legolas said reluctantly. "What have I got in my pouch?"

Bilbo smiled, looking more and more like the Hobbit Legolas had always known. "I saw you finger your pouch before you solved my last riddle. Now, I don't reckon you carry bread dough in your pouch, but something that made you think of it must be within. That would be one of those biscuits that the Cook is always favoring you with. Am I right?"

"You are," Legolas said, relieved at the turn matters were now taking. "Indeed, there are two biscuits in my pouch. The Cook said I was too thin!"

"Well, you are no Hobbit, that is certain," Bilbo laughed. "Your waist is not wider than your hips, and that's the commonest shape one sees in the Shire amongst the old folks. Oh, I know you are young in the eyes of your people, but if you were a Hobbit, with as many years as you own, your kinfolk would be rolling you about in a wheel barrow—you'd be that fat!"

"Then I had better not eat those biscuits. Would you like them?"

"No, thank you. Elrond's people have taken prodigious good care of me. I never want for food. Now, though, I do feel the need for sleep. Good night, Legolas!"

"Good night to you, Bilbo. May your dreams be pleasant."

"They always are—except when they're not," Bilbo replied enigmatically. He arose from his stool and took a few tottering steps. Swiftly, Lindir came to him, and Bilbo grasped his arm for support. Slowly Elf and Hobbit made their way from the Hall of Fire. Legolas looked after them thoughtfully.

"Bilbo was a Ring-bearer, Legolas," Elrond said. Silently he had come to stand beside his foster-son. "His wounds are not as visible as Frodo's, but the Ring has not left him unmarked."

"Elrond, is Bilbo dying?"

"Bilbo is mortal, Legolas. From the day of his birth, he has been dying."

"That is not what I asked, Elrond, and you know it."

"His time in Middle-earth nears its end," Elrond said. "But I may say no more on this subject. Good-night, Legolas."

Few now remained in the Hall of Fire. Elrohir approached Legolas. "Elladan has taken Gimli to his room, and I will show you to a room where you may sleep," he said.

"I may not stay in my former room?" Legolas asked.

"You may if you don't mind sleeping on a bare bedframe. The Hobbit Meriadoc stayed in that chamber. The Perian went out on the balcony to smoke his pipe, but the odor clung to him, and from there it got into the mattress and the pillows. The Mistress of the Linens has therefore commanded that the room's contents be spread out in the garden to be aired."

Legolas shrugged. "I would not have objected to the odor. Gimli forever smells of pipe weed."

"Except when you are drenching him in bath oil," teased Elrohir.

"True," laughed Legolas. "But lead on. If my old room is not made up, I have no objection to sleeping elsewhere. Although, as I have been sleeping rough a great deal, a bare bedframe might have been a comparative luxury!"

Elrohir led Legolas to the far end of a corridor where guests usually stayed. "There is Gimli's room yonder," he pointed, "in case you want to roust him out in the morning."

Nodding his thanks to his foster-brother, Legolas entered the room. Candles had already been lit, and a small fire burned in a brazier. Legolas smiled as he saw a nightshirt laid out upon the bed. He picked it up and gently ran his hands over its embroidered designs. "Edwen Nana," he murmured, "you are like the Cook. To you I will always be an elfling whom you may indulge and cosset."

The young Elf removed his tunic and leggings and happily slipped the nightshirt over his head. Since leaving Minas Tirith, he had had to sleep in his clothes, even at Meduseld, where in times of peace the Rohirrim slept nude and therefore had no bedshirts to lend their guests. Legolas made a wry face as he remembered how, after a celebration, the womenfolk had vanished from the feasting hall and the Men had spread blankets and furs upon the floor and benches and had casually removed their garments, glad for once that they did not have to sleep ready for battle. Some of the Men were as hairy as Gimli, and Legolas had momentarily wondered whether they would, like Beornings, be transformed into bears at the rising of the moon. The Elf retreated into the corner of the room, where some large cauldrons stood. Slipping between the cauldrons and the wall, he spread his blanket, laughing at himself as he did. "Here I must hide the fact that I am clothed, where elsewhere modesty may dictate that one's nakedness be disguised."

Gandalf and the Hobbits had also managed to make themselves scarce, but Gimli had cheerfully shed his clothes and, wrapped in a fur cloak, he was mingling his snores with those of the Men. Lying in his nightshirt in Elrond's Hall, Legolas smiled at the memory. Soon, however, even though the bed was comfortable, he found himself shifting uneasily. Unable to sleep, he sat up abruptly. Was it the approach of danger that made him so uneasy? Could brigands such as those who had assailed the villagers in Dunland be creeping toward Rivendell, having somehow bypassed its defenses? The Elf listened carefully. He heard nothing. Suddenly he realized that that was the problem—the silence. For months now, every night he had fallen asleep to the sound of Gimli snoring.

In the adjacent chamber, Gimli was likewise finding it impossible to sleep. For months he had been grumbling about Legolas's annoying habit of singing at bedtime. Unless enemies were near and silence was needful, the Elf would begin to softly chant as soon as he stretched out his form upon the ground. The Dwarf chewed his beard, considering. Perhaps, he thought, he ought to go check on the pointy-ear. The Elf might be discomfited by the lack of an audience. Elladan had pointed out the Sinda's room, and it wasn't far. Undecided, the Dwarf shifted uneasily on the now uncomfortable mattress. "Too fluffy," he muttered. "Trust an Elf to overstuff a mattress."

In his chamber, Legolas was hugging his knees to his chest. 'I wonder how Gimli fares', he said to himself. 'He is used to crowds and hubbubs. It must be hard for him to be shut up alone. Perhaps I should check on him'.

Legolas arose and went to the door. As he reached for it, the handle began to slowly move. The Elf stepped back, hiding his grin. The door cracked open, and Gimli stuck his head in. "Thought you wouldn't be able to sleep," he grunted. "Your day is not complete without you torment someone with your elvish caterwauling. Well, I've stood by you through battle and skirmish, so I reckon I can put up with your squalling, even though it be little better than the screeching of a Nazgûl."

"Aren't you cold?" Legolas asked.

Gimli looked down at himself. "Right. Nightshirt." He vanished and reappeared clad in that garment. He cleared his throat. "The two of us always lie back to back when you sing."

Legolas gestured to the bed. "It is large enough so that we may recreate conditions in the field," he said solemnly.

Clearing his throat once again, Gimli climbed atop the bed and settled himself on one side. "All right," he grumbled. "I'm ready to listen to whatever song you plan to mangle tonight."

Settling himself on the other side of the bed, Legolas began to sing the _Laer Cú Beleg_, the Song of the Great Bow. Midway through the story, just at the point when Beleg Strongbow was setting off to rescue his friend Túrin, Gimli began to snore. Legolas continued singing for a while, but Gimli's snoring was as rhythmic as music, and soon the Elf, too, was asleep.


	65. Chapter 65: Expedition in the Offing

**My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers of Chapter 64: **_**CAH, Enna Namo, L.A.H.H.,**__**leralonde, **_**and **_**ziggy3**_**.**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit **_**and**_** The Lord of the Rings**_**. The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as **_**The Silmarillion**_**. **

**Legolas wins an archery contest by shooting more than one arrow at a time in "Rivendell," the 9th chapter of _The Nameless One_. Elrohir was trapped by a rock fall in the story "Confession."  
**

**Chapter 65: An Expedition in the Offing**

"Did you sleep well?" Elrohir asked Legolas the next morning at breakfast.

"It took me a little while to become accustomed to my new surroundings," Legolas replied, "but in the end I slept very well indeed."

"The Mistress of the Linens is putting your old room to rights as we speak," Elrohir said, "so tonight you may sleep in familiar surroundings."

"I believe I will remain where I am," Legolas answered. "It suits me to be near my friend Gimli."

"I will tell the Mistress that you will stay in your current quarters, then," Elrohir nodded. "She will probably wish to drape sheets over the bed and other furniture in your old room to keep off the dust until the chamber is called for again."

Legolas grinned. He knew that his foster-brother was well versed in the minutiae of housekeeping. When Elrohir was an elfling, he and his twin had destroyed several bolsters in a pillow fight. The down had been scattered so thickly upon the floor that it looked as if snow had blown in at the window. The indignant Mistress of the Linens had marched into Elrond's study to demand justice on behalf of the bolsters, and the Master of Rivendell had as usual chosen a fitting punishment: Elrohir and Elladan were to be the Mistress's subalterns for the space of four months, a number corresponding to the number of bolsters the twins had destroyed. During those four months, Elladan and Elrohir had had become conversant with the care of mattresses; blankets, quilts and duvets; pillows and bolsters; shams and pillowcases; sheets and bed ticking; towels and wash clouts. As the two elflings had helped the Mistress close some rooms in the Great Hall and open and air others, they had dragged dozens of mattresses into and out of the garden and had spread many freshly laundered sheets over the bushes to dry.

Elrohir grinned back at Legolas, guessing at what his foster-brother must be thinking. "Managing a household is like managing an army," he said with pretended solemnity. "I am grateful to the Mistress of the Linens for the lessons she taught me about the marshaling of one's troops and resources."

"And wielding a brush is no different than wielding a sword, I suppose," Legolas smiled back.

"Indeed, there are similarities," Elrohir replied, still maintaining his mock solemnity. "In war, one must keep one's weapons in repair. So, too, when one battles dust and debris, one must look to one's tools. A dull sword is ineffectual in battle, and a worn brush allows the foe to escape capture."

Legolas laughed out loud. "Elrohir, I don't know why everyone calls _**me**_ the scamp. You are as mischievous as I—and you have no excuse for being so, as you are several centuries the older!"

"The fact that I am older than you is the secret to my having escaped blame all these years," Elrohir replied gaily. "With the wisdom of age, I know to counterfeit a sober cheer and thus deflect suspicion from myself. It is your smile that gives you away—or your grin, rather."

Legolas grinned now as he flicked a crumb at Elrohir's ear. "Legolas," scolded Erestor. "Stop being such a scamp." Elrohir made a choking sound as he endeavored to stifle a laugh. "Elrohir," Erestor reproved him. "Do not take such big bites."

Now both young Elves laughed aloud, and Elrond raised his eyebrows. "You two are in very good humor this morning," he said mildly. Then he, too, smiled. "I think, Erestor," he said, "that it is good to hear the sound of laughter from those who have been warriors. For why else did they fight, if not to safeguard the happiness of the inhabitants of Middle-earth? As they themselves are inhabitants of Middle-earth, it only seems just that they, too, should partake of the general happiness."

"They could be happy and decorous at the same time," Erestor pointed out.

"I believe," Elrond replied, "that happiness sometimes lies in the indecorous—a delight that arises from flouting the sometimes-stifling requirements of occasion."

Erestor subsided with the sigh of the long-suffering. He and Elrond had been politely skirmishing over this matter for several centuries.

Gimli had been watching the interplay between Elrohir and Legolas, Erestor and Elrond, with amusement. "You Elves are an antic folk," he said softly to Legolas.

"And Dwarves are not?" Legolas whispered back.

"Oh, we are are! we are! Bilbo can attest to that. Have you not heard his droll account of the Dwarves' visit to his house on the eve of his departure on the quest to the Lonely Mountain?"

Legolas smiled. He had heard the story. Blithely, the jovial Dwarves had upset Bilbo's domestic tranquility while at the same time casting a spell of fascination over him. Surprised at the number and nature of his guests, appalled by their assault upon his larder, horrified as they dandled his dishes, the Hobbit was nonetheless strongly moved by the Dwarves' songs and stories and felt an instinctive kinship with folk who liked food and pipe weed as much as he.

"Elves are antic; Dwarves are antic," Gimli said thoughtfully, interrupting Legolas's ruminations. "Another reason the Dwarves and the Elves ought to get along—Legolas, why _**did**_ the Elves and the Dwarves fall out?"

"I do not think it was one event but a sequence of misunderstandings," Legolas said slowly. "Suspicions on each side slowly increased until at last neither folk trusted the other. You will own, Gimli, that the Dwarves are very proud and take offense easily, perceiving slights where perhaps none were intended."

"Oh, and are not the Elves proud?" protested Gimli.

"You see how it must have been," Legolas returned with a smile. "I was going to say on: that the Elves, too, are jealous of their dignity and thus are equally to blame."

Gimli subsided, trying to hide his chagrin in his beard.

"So you see, Gimli," Legolas continued, "these two proud folk, equally jealous of their prerogatives, could not help but bridle one at the other."

"I suppose that shan't change," Gimli said unhappily. "I have just proved that the enmity is inevitable."

"Indeed, you have proved that folk can alter. You took offense, but when I explained myself, you accepted my word and gave way. We are brothers, you and I, and like all kin, we can quarrel but still maintain our love for one another."

"Like Elrond and Erestor," Gimli said happily.

"Yes. Like us they are brothers not in blood but in spirit, but brothers nonetheless. They are able to disagree amicably."

"Amicably," repeated Gimli. "Amicably. But, Legolas," he added suddenly, "while we know ourselves to be brothers, it was a kinship forged over many months amidst shared hardship and danger. I reckon the run-of-the-mill Dwarf won't look upon any Elf he happens upon as a brother-no, no more would an Elf be likely to look kindly upon a Dwarf, the hospitality of Rivendell notwithstanding."

"True—for now," Legolas agreed. "I reckon that accounts for the two of us."

"Pardon?"

"We are meant to be ambassadors, you and I."

"I don't follow you."

"Gimli, we are friends in part because Gandalf wished us to be thrown together, and I have given some thought as to his motives. We each had something to offer the Fellowship, of course, and for that reason he always desired that we should get along—or at least refrain from coming to blows! But I think he always desired that we should do more than merely abide one another's company."

Gimli nodded, the thoughtful look on his face mirroring that on his companion's. "I reckon I know what you are thinking. Our clever friend was always trying to forge alliances. I suppose it would please him if we should be the very picture of conviviantibility as we gallivant about."

"Conviviality," Legolas corrected gently. "I agree with your thinking," the Elf continued. "We are in accord."

"That's conviviality right there," Gimli said triumphantly.

"Yes," agreed Legolas, laughing. "And thus we are ambassadors who hail from the Kingdom of Cordiality. I reckon Gandalf would have it be seen that folk of different races can be friends. It is possible that the fate of humans may depend upon this lesson being taught."

"You think Men may fall out with the Elves and Dwarves unless they learn this lesson?"

Legolas shook his head. "No, Gimli. Gandalf fears that Men will continue to strive amongst themselves until the Fourth Age is sunk into a destruction as total as the one that Middle-earth would have suffered had Sauron prevailed. Consider, Gimli: To you and me, humans seem much alike. Unquestionably, they are members of the same race. Men themselves, however, deem humans from foreign lands to be of different races, the gulf between them seemingly as large as that between the Elves and Dwarves."

Erestor offered his opinion. "Legolas is right," he observed. "Tribes of humans will take the most trivial of differences as reason to hold themselves aloof from other tribes. Now, it is a well-known fact that humans who dwell in different regions vary in the color of their skin. In my library is a manuscript by a human who on that account divides Men into four races: White, Black, Red, and Yellow. He also claims that each race has a typical character: Whites are natural leaders, both bold and intelligent; Blacks strong but servile and stupid; Red Men fierce but childlike; and Yellow Men sly and avaricious."

"I reckon," Legolas said dryly, "that this manuscript was written by one who would call himself 'White'."

Erestor nodded. "Yes. I have another manuscript that has come from afar, from one of the Yellow lands. Its author deems White folk to be hairy, uncouth barbarians, dirty and garbed in rough garments."

"Must have met Aragorn," Gimli quipped. Legolas looked the Dwarf up and down pointedly, and the Nauga subsided.

Erestor continued speaking. "I suppose," he sighed, "that if you are, as you say, ambassadors, your mission will keep you roaming about. You will not spend much time in Rivendell, I reckon."

This last sentence was uttered so wistfully that Legolas, touched, became a little wistful himself. 'It is true I shall spend little time in Rivendell', he said to himself, 'but not only because Gandalf would not want it. Gimli will not want to settle here. Nor would he wish to settle in Eryn Lasgalen, no matter how hospitable my father may have become. Therefore I myself shall settle at neither place. Truly, I will not see Erestor or my other kinfolk as often as I would if I made up my mind to forsake Gimli'.

'Of course', the Elf added to himself, 'Gimli, too, will spend little time with his Dwarf kin. He will cleave to me as I will cleave to him. 'Twill be a fair exchange', he mused, recovering his spirits a little.

By now the remnants of the food were being cleared from the table. Gimli grabbed for a hunk of cheese as a platter was carried past him. "Too brief, these elven meals," he grumbled. "Now I know why you are so skinny, Legolas. Not enough time to satisfy your hunger."

As the two friends walked toward the door, Legolas slipped his hand into his pouch. "I have two biscuits, Gimli. You are welcome to them both."

Gimli accepted them eagerly, but then he paused as he lifted one to his mouth. "What about you, lad? Won't you want a biscuit?"

Legolas shook his head and laughed. "I have only to stroll by the kitchen and look hopeful and I assure you I will be showered with biscuits."

"Showered with them, eh? Does it rain any other sort of food here in Rivendell?"

Legolas made a show of squinting up at the sky. "Cloudy with a chance of meat pies," he announced after a minute.

"I like that forecast," Gimli said enthusiastically. He grinned. "Do you remember how Pippin complained at being deprived of his second breakfast one day?"

Legolas grinned, too. "You are thinking of the day that Aragorn threw an apple at him."

"Yes, and the apple hit Pippin in the head. Aragorn was hidden by a bush, and Pippin looked up at the sky in amazement, for he momentarily thought that it was raining apples."

The two friends laughed together. "Do you know," Gimli said after a moment, "I think that, for all the terrors we faced, the most of our journey was very pleasant."

"Oh, aye," Legolas said wryly. "When we weren't being buried in avalanches, tracked by crebain and fell wolves, pursued by wargs and Ringwraiths, menaced by Orcs and Trolls, assailed by Uruk-hai and a Balrog—why, yes, the journey was very pleasant indeed!"

"Very disconcerting, those events," Gimli replied nonchalantly, "but you must allow as how they took up very little of our time. Proportionationally, we journeyed unmolested and saw a great many interesting sights."

"Proportionally," Legolas said automatically.

"So you agree, then," crowed Gimli.

Legolas laughed so hard that he again attracted Erestor's attention. Apparently deciding that his former pupil wanted reining in, the older Elf fell into step beside the younger one. "I should like an opportunity sometime to question you about your journey," the tutor said. "Your observations will provide much material for the chronicles, no doubt."

"I shall do my best to oblige you," Legolas replied.

"I hope," the older Elf continued, "that you made good use of all that you learned whilst under my tutelage."

"I did," Legolas assured him. "The geography lessons were especially useful."

"Not excepting the maps?" Erestor asked eagerly.

"Oh, yes! Often as I traveled the images of the maps arose before me. Your very brushstrokes I would see in my mind's eye."

Erestor looked as happy as an elfling. After a minute, however, his expression changed. "You did not find my language instruction to be useful?" he said worriedly.

"Indeed, I did, Erestor! Wherever we have journeyed, I was able to understand the speech of the peoples we encountered. This facility proved to be particularly useful on several occasions when folk did not realize that I understood their words."

Shaking his head somberly at the memory, Legolas began to recount the tale of one such occasion. "Several villages at the southern border of Fangorn Forest that were deserted during the Dark Times have now been resettled," he explained. "In the larger of these villages, a few of the more enterprising Men let out rooms to travelers. These inns are rudimentary places, and Gimli and I generally avoid them, for the earth beneath the trees is both cleaner and more comfortable than the bedding they furnish. Still, one tempestuous night, Gimli and I, the both of us wet and weary, decided it would be good to abide the night under a roof. Entering an inn behind two Men who likewise were seeking shelter, we waited in the antechamber whilst they bargained with the landlord. Both innkeeper and wayfarers spoke an argot that was a mix of the Rohan tongue and the language of the Dunlendings. Because you had lessoned me in both, I followed their conversation with little difficulty."

Erestor looked as triumphant as if he had fought and won a great battle. Legolas suppressed a smile and continued his tale.

"The Men quickly settled upon the price for a room and then, not realizing that I understood their speech, they fell to discussing Gimli and me. 'The Elf and the Dwarf will be ignorant of our customs', said one Man to the innkeeper. 'You should charge them thrice what a room is worth'.

"Now, the rooms being small, so too were the prices. Even thrice the worth of a room would have been a small sum. Still, I did not like the thought that the innkeeper might try to cheat us. But I liked even less what was said next. 'I have an idea will bring much more profit, innkeeper', suggested the second traveler. 'Put a little something into their wine. Whilst they slumber, I and my fellow will lift their purses and share the winnings with you'."

"The innkeeper said he would do it, but he had not the drug. The Men assured him that they possessed the necessary compound. 'Show the Elf and the Dwarf to their room and then come to ours', they told the landlord. 'We will furnish what is needful'."

"The villains!" cried Erestor. "I trust you set them to rights without a moment's delay!"

Gimli took up the tale. "Oh, we did much better than _**that**_," the Dwarf chortled. "Legolas did not let on that he had understood a word. The innkeeper took the Men to their room, and whilst he was gone, Legolas told me their game. In my indignation I wished to confront them straightaway, but Legolas shared his plan with me. When the innkeeper returned, we addressed him in the Common Speech, and he answered us in kind. We agreed to pay him three times what a room would be worth thereabouts, and he led us to one—a small, dirty chamber it was, too. But we did not complain. We asked that meat and cheese and bread be sent up. And wine. We asked for wine."

"But you knew it would be drugged," exclaimed Erestor.

"Oh, yes," agreed Gimli. "We knew it would be drugged. But the innkeeper did not know that we knew it would be drugged. And the travelers did not know that the innkeeper did not know that we knew that it would be drugged."

Erestor looked confused for a moment, but then he understood. "Oh ho!" he chuckled. "Well, say on. I look forward to this tale's denouement."

Now Gimli looked confused. "How the story turns out," Legolas explained. Then he took up the tale. "The bread was a little stale, but the meat was unspoiled, as was the cheese. We ate our fill. As to the wine, however, we poured it out the window, leaving a little in the bottom of our cups to make it look as if they had been used. Our thirst we satisfied with water. When our host came to clear away the dishes, he was pleased to see the wine bottle empty. 'Good wine, wasn't it?' he said, acting the innocent. Gimli was pretending to sleep. As for myself, I answered through counterfeit yawns, assuring him that the wine was remarkable—which was no lie!"

Erestor nodded approvingly, proud of his pupil's ability to deceive the enemy while uttering nothing that could be said to be false. This was a skill carefully cultivated by Elves, and it had frustrated many a plot by their foes.

"After the innkeeper departed," Legolas continued the tale, "I lay down, my knives at my side, the blanket drawn up just enough to cover them. Gimli, of course, had his axe lying between him and the wall, where it would not be seen even if our foes bore a candle into the room—which was not likely, anyway."

"We did not have to wait long," Gimli said, taking up the story. "We heard someone bar the door to the inn, and then steps ascending the stairs—no doubt the landlord retiring to his room. After a little while, we heard soft steps outside the door to our chamber—I did, anyway, for I have the ears of a fox! I closed my hand about the handle of my axe but otherwise lay quite still. The door latch was slowly lifted, and from underneath my lowered lashes I watched the two Men, knives in hand, creep into the room. One of them went to stand by Legolas's pallet, the other by mine. I had made sure to begin snoring when I heard the latch lift, and I fooled the Man utterly. 'The Dwarf is dead drunk', the Man sneered. In this he revealed his ignorance. We Dwarves can hold our liquor better than folk of any race. It would take more than a glass of spiked wine to lay me out."

Legolas made an odd sound, as if he were trying to choke back laughter. Gimli, he who had the ears of a fox, pretended not to hear. He went on. "The other Man was fooled by Legolas—I don't know how, as the lad has the odd habit of sleeping with his eyes open. Howsomever, both Men were deceived by our counterfeit slumber, and they set out to rifle our packs, which we had left against the wall. Turning their backs on us, they knelt upon the floor, set aside their knives, and began to unbuckle the straps. At that moment, Legolas and I leaped up from our pallets. One Man found himself with my axe at his neck, the other with Legolas's knife at his throat. Simultaneously, I set up a clamor. 'Murder! murder! murder!' I roared. A great hubbub broke out as the household was roused. Feet ran back and forth, and people shouted. The innkeeper rushed into the room, pale and shaking, for he feared that his villainy would be exposed. What inn may thrive if it be known that its patron will be robbed whilst they sleep?"

"'What sort of establishment are you keeping?' I bellowed. 'Our throats might have been cut whilst we slumbered'."

"'Masters, I beg your pardon', he stammered. 'Take these Men to their chamber and keep watch o'er them', he ordered an underling who stood slack-jawed in the doorway. By now Legolas had bound the arms of the would-be robbers behind their backs, and they went quietly enough. I reckon they would not have betrayed the innkeeper, for Men of that sort will turn blackmailer quick enough. Doubtless, they were looking forward to many a night of free lodging, with beer thrown in for good measure."

Legolas took up the tale. "With his conspirators out of the way, the innkeeper now strove to placate us. 'Masters', he wheedled, 'I will deal with you aright. Your trouble and grief have paid for your room. Aye, and for your meal as well'. He knew the game was up, however, when I replied to him, for I spoke in the language of the Rohirrim. 'Þu scealt bycgan þæt win ealswa', I said sternly. "You shall pay for that wine also_. _'Oh, yes, of course, masters', he stammered. 'The wine. No charge! And breakfast! You shall have breakfast at my expense. I hope you shan't speak ill of my establishment, masters'."

"I answered him in the language of the Dunlendings, which made him turn even paler, for he knew I could have missed nothing. 'If you are lucky, I shan't speak ill of this inn', I said. 'But do not hope for a recommendation. The best you can hope for is that I do not speak of it at all'."

"For this he was grateful. 'Thank you, master. Thank you', he groveled, bowing until he was almost genuflecting. Bobbing his head continually, he backed toward the door. When he reached it, he gave one last deep bow and then scurried away. Behind him, I bolted the door, something I had deliberately neglected to do earlier, for I wanted to lull the Men into making their ill-fated attempt at robbing us."

"To some it would seem folly," observed Glorfindel, who like Erestor was walking alongside and was listening with great interest, "that you did not take steps to secure your safety when you learned an attempt would be made on your chamber."

"True," conceded Legolas. "We knew we could have frustrated the plot merely by bolting the door. But if we had, it is likely that the Men would have found other targets less able to defend themselves. By capturing the would-be thieves and frightening their sponsor, we hoped to discourage them from future acts of villainy against wayfarers."

Glorfindel nodded. "Good. I suspected that would be your answer. By the by, I hope that throughout your journey you remained mindful of all the lessons I tried to teach you during weapons training."

Legolas smiled. So Glorfindel, too, wished to hear that his pupil had benefited from his tutelage. "I would recite my martial achievements, which would redound to your credit, only it would make me sound like a braggart," he replied slyly.

"I will recite them for him," Gimli said quickly. He was proud of 'his' Elf, whose achievements he looked upon as tantamount to his own. "Now, you must understand, Master Glorfindel, that Legolas here could not wield a great axe such as mine—he is too skinny!—but he was very clever with the weapons that he did wield. His bow, well, his bow is a trifling thing. Naught but a slender stick and a piece of string, but Legolas did the best he could with it. In Khazad-dûm, our progress was impeded by a pesky Cave Troll. Had we enough time, I would have hewed through its limbs and so dispensed with it in that fashion, but, well, we were in a bit of a hurry. Legolas, managed to slow it down by shooting two arrows into its shoulder with but one release of the bow."

Glorfindel and Legolas exchanged knowing looks. Shooting multiple arrows was a trick that Legolas had perfected in order to defeat Elrohir at an archery contest. Elrohir had protested that Legolas had more hits because he used more arrows, but the rules had referred only to the number of shots taken, not the number of arrows released. Legolas had therefore been declared the winner.

"His shooting the Troll with two arrows was a clever trick, to be sure," Gimli was continuing. "but he exceeded that when he put _**three**_ arrows into the skull of a Mûmakil. Ran straight at the beast and seized its tusk, whence he leaped onto its front leg. With one hand he gripped an arrow what had been shot into the beast's trunky limb; with the other, he clung to a rope what was wrapped round the leg—part of its rig, I reckon. From there he sprang to the back leg and commenced climbing up the beast, coolly grabbing hold of arrow shafts as if they had been placed there for no other reason than to serve as handholds. Mind you, the beast was rampaging the whole while."

Glorfindel looked proudly at Legolas. Like Gimli, Glorfindel considered Legolas to be 'his' Elf, his emotions toward the younger Elf made up of paternal feelings that had been nourished over the centuries that he had been one of Legolas's foster fathers.

"Now before you could cry 'ringwraith'," Gimli continued, "Legolas was atop that creature, and he commenced picking off the Haradrim what rode in a great basket strapped upon its back. A few of the Southrons tried to rush him, but he sidestepped them or knocked them off balance, and they plunged to the ground. I reckon, though, that Legolas thought picking them off one by one was too tedious, so next you know, he is in the air again, leaping for a great rope what dangled from the rig. Whilst clinging to it with one hand, he hacked at the beast's harness. The basket began to slide sideways, away from Legolas, and the lad held tight to that rope and it pulled him right back atop that beast. Now all his enemies were dragged away by the rig, there was nothing to stop that lad shooting those three arrows into the Mûmakil's brain. The great beast crumpled like a clod of clay under the hand of child. 'Twas a great deed. Although', Gimli added patronizingly, 'Legolas did spoil the effect a little by sliding down the beast's trunk as if all he did was but in sport."

"It was the fastest way down," Legolas protested.

"Now, those were not the lad's only accomplishment," Gimli continued as if Legolas had not spoken. "Even with only one arrow, Legolas could do a lot of damage. At the battle for Helm's Deep, the Uruk-hai were trying to raise siege ladders by shooting massive anchors over the walls and then hoisting the ladders by hauling on ropes threaded through pulleys."

Glorfindel nodded his understanding. Over the centuries, he had seen such devices and knew the peril that they represented to the defenders of a stronghold.

"Legolas," Gimli continued, "aimed at one of these ropes where it entered a pulley, and he succeeded in severing it. Down crashed the ladder, killing not only the Uruk-hai clambering up it but numerous of the creatures that swarmed below."

"Oft it is not brute force but shrewdness that determines the outcome of a battle," Erestor proclaimed.

Gimli shot him a suspicious look but decided that the tutor was merely being his usual tendentious self. "Still and all," the Dwarf continued, "an arrow shot, unlike an axe wielded in close combat, can go astray. You must have heard how we took over a fleet of corsair vessels and so turned the tide at the Battle of the Pelennor. Before we boarded those ships, Aragorn bade Legolas send an arrow past the bosun's ear. What does the lad do but peg him square in the chest—no chance for parley after _**that**_!"

"Gimli," Legolas complained, "you jostled my bow just as I released my arrow!"

"Now, Legolas," Gimli lectured, "you must not make excuses. A warrior of character does not flinch from owning up to his mistakes."

"It was not my mistake that your axe struck my bow," objected Legolas.

"It needs no philosopher to tell that two objects cannot be in one spot at the selfsame time," Gimli replied loftily. "It was not _**my**_ fault that my axe was at the spot where your bow wanted to be."

"My bow was there first," retorted Legolas. Then he colored when he realized how childish he sounded. Gimli chortled, Glorfindel grinned, and even Erestor smiled. After a moment Legolas grinned too. "You have succeeded in winding me up as if I were an elfling," he conceded, "so at the moment I am indeed more like unto a child than an adult."

"Yet by making this concession, you are like unto an adult once more," Glorfindel pointed out.

"Paradoxistical," Gimli said cheerfully.

Legolas opened his mouth to correct his friend's pronunciation, but then changed his mind. 'I know what Gimli means, and Erestor and Glorfindel know as well," the Elf said to himself. 'Anyway, his odd phrases are part of who he is. I believe I should miss his way of talking if he were to change." Instead of correcting Gimli, he smiled at him. "Come, my friend," he said, "since we are not to resume our journey straightaway, you must let me show you Rivendell and its environs."

The Dwarf looked about. "We are in a dell surrounded by slopes thick with trees," he observed matter-of-factly. "What would you show me that I have not already seen?"

"Many things. The river where Estel nearly drowned as a child. The lake where my playmates and I were attacked by wargs. The cave where Elrohir was trapped by a rockfall."

At the mention of a cave, Gimli turned enthusiastic. "A cave? That's good! It is worth exploring, I hope."

"Other than Elrohir, Elrond is the only one who ever passed further than its opening. But judging from their accounts, its chambers are numerous and may be well worth a visit."

"Excellent!" enthused Gimli. "I cannot understand why all the Elves in Rivendell have not frequented the cave, but I am glad it is so. Doubtless we shall find passageways never before trod by any Free Folk. We Dwarves take delight in forging new paths through subterranean realms, I hope you know."

"Yes, I do know," Legolas replied, remembering their excursion beneath Helm's Deep. "But, Gimli, when you forge a new path, do you not fear that you will encounter unexpected danger?"

Gimli chuckled. "Don't be daft, Legolas. The possibility of danger is one of the appeals of exploring a cavern. Now, tell me true, my friend. Have you not more than once been drawn toward risk like iron to a lodestone?"

"I cannot deny that I have," Legolas conceded ruefully. "I have gotten into many scrapes over the centuries."

"Well, then," Gimli beamed, "let us see what sort of scrapes we can get into in that cave! We shall need torches and rope, as well as water and food should we become trapped, and pickaxes and shovels so that we can extricate ourselves in the end after experiencing the thrill of getting ourselves stuck in a tight spot."

Legolas looked appealingly at Glorfindel, but the balrog slayer merely grinned and shook his head. As for Erestor, the tutor excused himself in order to go pore over a manuscript, a gift from Aragorn that a messenger had delivered the day before Gimli and Legolas's arrival. With no help from either quarter, then, Legolas reluctantly agreed that on the morrow he and Gimli would explore the cave where years before Elrohir had briefly been entombed.


	66. Chapter 66: It Lives, It Breathes

**My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers of Chapter 65: **_**Andie Andreas, **__**CAH,**____**Enna Namo, LAHH, leralonde, Ne'ith5, **_**and **_**ziggy3**_**. Thanks also to **_**butterfly ninja**_** for reviews of the following chapters: 35, 36, 43, 52, and 56.**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit **_**and**_** The Lord of the Rings**_**. The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as **_**The Silmarillion**_**. **

**Elrohir was trapped by a rock fall in the story "Confession." Elrohir is nearly drowned in a cave and rescued by Legolas in Chapters 3 and 4 of "Blind Fate."**

**Chapter 66: It Lives; It Breaths.**

Legolas studied the objects laid out upon his bed. Water skin, lembas bread; twine; candles; flint, steel, and tinder. "An extra cloak," he said aloud. "The Paths of the Dead were cold, and so may be this cave. Gimli likely would not admit to being chilled, but I shall carry an extra wrap nonetheless." Carefully he rolled a cloak as tightly as he could and stuffed it in the bottom of his pack. Atop it he carefully laid the wafers of lembas in their leaf wrappers, the twine, and the candles. The flint, steel, and tinder he tucked into their tiny leather case and placed in the pouch that he wore at his belt next to the scabbard of the small knife Elves carried even when not going into battle. The water skin he set aside to be filled.

The young Elf sat on his bed and considered. Ought he to take anything else? "Miruvor," he murmured to himself. "I shall ask Elrond for a vial of miruvor. Perhaps I should ask him for a few athelas leaves as well." Legolas arose and went to seek out Elrond. It was very early, but the young Elf found the Master of Rivendell in the garden with Erestor. The two friends were surveying the damage caused by a pair of groundhogs. "Ah, Legolas, my son," Elrond said when the younger Elf materialized beside them, "do you remember the time when each spring a groundhog would move into the garden and re-excavate the hole that the Gardener had filled in the year before?"

Legolas laughed. "Yes, I remember. Even with the passage of decades, the Gardener would swear that it was the same groundhog. Each spring he would set out on a single-minded quest to drive that groundhog from his domain. I would come upon him in the morning, brooding, shovel in hand. 'Why do you not let him have his corner of the garden?' I asked him once. 'His depredations will not be very great in comparison with the vegetables that will remain'. But the Gardener was inexorable in the pursuit of his foe. 'The groundhog tasks me', he proclaimed. 'He heaps me; I see in him outrageous strength, with an inscrutable malice sinewing it'."

"Outrageous strength?" said Erestor. "A groundhog with outrageous strength? 'Tis an abuse of the language!"

Legolas grinned. "But, Erestor," he teased, "you must acknowledge that a groundhog's teeth are prodigiously powerful when wielded against a celery stalk. As to the inscrutable malice, however," the young Elf went on, "I cannot see it. A groundhog's motives are neither hard to interpret nor wicked in intent. He only wishes to dine upon such comestibles as seem good to him and then to retire to his burrow, there to digest at leisure."

Elrond smiled at this characterization of a groundhog. "'Tis very like a description of a Dwarf," the elf lord said slyly.

"Gimli would not be offended to be described so," Legolas replied with another grin.

"It would," Erestor proclaimed sententiously, "be an equally good description of a Halfling, a creature who also is likely to live in a hole in the ground." The tutor shook his head. "I will never be able to fathom how a Perian could live in such a place," he said disapprovingly.

"You must remember, Erestor," Legolas pointed out, "that a Hobbit dwelling is not a nasty, dirty, hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat. As Bilbo is fond of saying, his dwelling was a hobbit-hole, and that meant comfort, something that may be said in general of the dwellings of his kinsmen."

Legolas might have added that his father Thranduil, and all his household, found their lodgings in a dolven hall to be very agreeable as well. However, Erestor likely would have retorted that Legolas's kin had been forced into that harborage for fear of the giant spiders for which Mirkwood had been famous, so Legolas forbore any mention of his homeland and instead came to the matter that drew him to the garden.

"Elrond, have you any miruvor to spare?"

"Indeed, now the wars are over, I have a more than ample stock of that cordial."

"And athelas leaves?"

"Several freshly picked."

As they spoke, the Elves strolled back toward the Great Hall. As they passed the kitchen, the Head Cook came forth, one hand clutching the handle of a hamper, the other a bundle wrapped in paper and tied with a string. He handed both to Legolas.

"You and the Dwarf depart before the breakfast sitting-or so Lord Elrond told me last night," the Cook declared. "'Tis precipitous behavior on your part. Very inconvenient, too, for I had already taken your presence into account when I doled out the ingredients for the morning meal. You shall just have to take responsibility for the extra food. No, don't protest! Will ye, nill ye, I demand that you convey this food from this place. And to show my displeasure, I have added the penalty that you must carry this bundle of foodstuffs over and above what you would have been expected to eat at breakfast."

Legolas accepted the hamper and the bundle-biscuits, no doubt-and accompanied Elrond to his study. There the elf lord removed a bottle from a cabinet and poured some of its contents into a small vial. Placing a stopper in its neck, he handed it to Legolas, along with a small bundle of athelas leaves. "Hannon le," Legolas smiled. "No doubt these precautions are unnecessary, but my heart shall be the lighter if we enter the cave equipped with all that might be needful."

"It is always good to prepare for that which you least expect," Elrond replied, "for if you do, then you cannot be taken unawares. Now go and enjoy your excursion, my son."

"As I shall be with Gimli, I cannot fail to enjoy it," laughed Legolas. "Even if the cave fails to entertain, my friend will not."

Bowing to his foster father, Legolas returned to the room he was sharing with Gimli. The Dwarf usually slept in when there were no Orcs to be pursued, but the anticipated excursion had drawn him from his bed soon after Legolas had left the chamber in search of Elrond. Now, as the Elf had done earlier, the Nauga was checking his supplies. That job soon finished, he quizzed Legolas about his preparations.

"Now then, lad, I hope you are well equipped," he declared officiously.

"Water skin; lembas bread; twine; candles; flint, steel, and tinder," Legolas recited. "Miruvor, athelas leaves, an extra cape," he continued.

The Dwarf snorted. "An extra cape," he scoffed. "Leave it to an Elf to bring an unnecessary garment. I'm surprised you are not also carrying an extra tunic and leggings. Aye, and extra small clothes, too."

"If you do not wish me to carry anything superfluous objects, I reckon I should set aside these biscuits," Legolas said slyly, holding up the packet of paper.

"Biscuits!" exclaimed the Dwarf, nodding approvingly. "Now that is good planning. Small as they are, they revive a body. And what is in that hamper there?"

"Breakfast. And probably lunch as well, I should think."

"Good! Let us divide the victuals between our two packs-if there is any room in yours, that is, what with those extra clothes."

"There is only the cape," Legolas reminded him. "And I have rolled it up so tightly that it takes up little space."

The two friends set about dividing up the food, and before too long they were ready to depart, stopping only to fill their water skins at the fountain.

"How far is this cave?" Gimli asked as they stoppered their water skins.

"A brief ride."

"If it's a brief ride, then it cannot be too far to walk."

"True. It would take an hour."

"Then let us walk. I have been jounced about to Mordor and back. It is time we traveled according to my lights rather than yours."

Legolas did not object to walking, particularly as it would give him the opportunity to renew his acquaintance with several trees that he had not seen since departing on the Quest. Gimli huffed the third time Legolas greeted one of his old friends.

"Talking to trees! Mind you, these are not even Ents who might deign to reply. Trees, Legolas! Trees!"

"At Helm's Deep, _**you**_ were uttering sweet nothings to a stalagmite," Legolas reminded him.

"I was talking _**about**_ it, not _**to**_ it," Gimli said with dignity. "And it was a stalactite, not a stalagmite."

"I distinctly remember you to say, 'You are a fine specimen. Yes, you are. A very fine specimen indeed!"

"Well, he _**was**_ a fine specimen," grumbled Gimli, as if that were the issue under dispute.

"He?" Legolas said, quirking an eyebrow. "_**He**_?"

"Traders in Gondor tell me sailors call a boat a 'she'. Don't see why I can't call a stalactite a 'he'," shot back Gimli.

"A boat moves about as if it had moods," Legolas retorted. "It is far more natural to perceive of it as a living thing than a rock, which is unchanging and immovable. A tree, too, moves and changes like a living creature."

Gimli looked triumphant. "So it's change and movement you want," he chortled. "Well, lad, I'm surprised at ye. I thought you Elves took the long view-a century as the blink of an eye and whatnot. Rock is as changeable as any object on Middle-earth-if you wait long enough. Take that stalactite, now. He began as a droplet of water dangling from the ceiling of a cave. The droplet dried up, but a speck of mineral what had been dissolved in the water was left behind. Caves are dampish places, so by and by another droplet settled upon the same spot. When it dried up, it left behind another speck. Speck upon speck, that stalactite was built up over centuries. Why, a stalactite is more venerable than any oak what grew from an acorn over the space of a few decades."

Legolas considered. "So a stalactite, like a tree, takes form over a lengthy period of time?"

"Aye, lad. And a stalactite is not the only earthly object what changes. Mountains arise; mountains erode. Lake beds fill with silt; the new-made meadows are then riven by streams. Middle-earth is being constantly reshaped, built up in one place, pulled down in another. Why, the earth can be livelier than an Ent, what with landslides and floods, earthquakes and volcanoes. Let me tell you, lad, a lava flow may move faster than ever Treebeard would!"

By now they had arrived at the entrance to the cave. It had been overgrown during the decades since Legolas had last visited it, but Gimli went to work clearing the vines and bushes that obscured the entrance. He chopped away enthusiastically until the two friends were able to step inside the entrance and peer about. "Look," laughed Legolas, pointing at some marks just inside the cave. "I believe those may be my footprints."

Gimli bent down and peered at the marks. "They do appear to be boot marks, but they are so small they must have been made by a child."

"It was many years ago," Legolas reminded him.

"Why, you warn't no bigger than a Hobbit," Gimli exclaimed.

"I was indeed small," Legolas agreed. "But," he added mischievously, "like a stalactite I grew."

"Stalagmite," Gimli corrected. "As I have told you, stalactites take shape from the top down. You, however, grew up. Like a stalagmite."

"Stalagmite, then," said Legolas obligingly.

The two stepped back outside the cave and unstrapped their packs. Sitting with their backs to trees, legs outstretched, they ate their breakfast. As Legolas had suspected, the Cook had packed enough food not only for that meal but for lunch. "My pack scarcely feels any lighter," Legolas laughed after they had wrapped up the leftover food and returned it to their bags. "Horn of Plenty," Gimli said promptly.

"Horn of Plenty?"

"A mannish legend what is told by the Men of Lake-town. Fruits and vegetables come tumbling out of a horn, but no matter how many come forth, the horn never empties. Eat an apple, another apple pops out. Wish these water skins would refill themselves in the selfsame manner. Even better," the Dwarf added, "would be a stein what never runs out of beer."

As neither prospect seemed likely, the two friends went to a nearby spring to refill the water skins. Then they returned to the entrance of the cave. Gimli lit a torch, and Elf and Dwarf set out to explore what proved to be an elaborate series of underground passages. Each time they turned off into one of the numerous side galleries, Legolas would ask whether they ought to use the twine to mark the path back to the main passage, but Gimli said that regaining it would not be difficult. Again and again the Dwarf proved correct, but Legolas was not mollified. "What if someone has need to follow us," he argued. "How would he know that we had ventured off to one side?"

"We ought to save the twine for an emergency," Gimli retorted. They debated the subject until they hit upon the notion of scratching an arrow mark into the ground to show that they had entered a passageway and another arrow, pointing in the opposite direction, to show that they had exited it. This agreement having been reached, Legolas now allowed himself to be diverted by Gimli's observations on the natural history of caves. The Dwarf could read the varied colors and textures in a cave as if he were a tracker reading the spoor of his quarry.

"Schist," Gimli muttered.

"Pardon?"

"Schist," the Dwarf enunciated clearly, pointing at a fragment of rock jutting from the wall. It was flecked with red.

"Are those garnets?" Legolas asked.

"Aye, lad, small ones. Bits of mica in there, too."

The Dwarf held the torch higher. "Gneiss," he pronounced.

"Yes, it is nice," Legolas agreed. "Quite a pretty piece of rock."

"You use those pointy ears of yours for anything besides show? I said gneiss."

"So did I," Legolas retorted.

"Gneiss the rock. Not the la! la! la! nice-all sweet and flouncy-like."

Here the Dwarf grimaced at the awful prospect of 'niceness'.

"That is not gneiss," Legolas said, keeping a perfectly straight face.

"What? Did I say anything so very dreadful?" protested Gimli.

Grinning, Legolas pointed at another rock. His friend broke into a grin as well.

"Ah, I see. Not gneiss. Aye, lad, that is quartzite. By the by, this is just the sort of cave what would have a deposit of amethysts. Would you know an amethyst happens you should see one?"

Legolas was about to assure his friend that elven jewelers were well acquainted with the gemstone when he was startled by a rumbling noise. "What was that?" he demanded.

"What was what?" Gimli replied.

"That rumbling. What was that rumbling?"

Gimli chuckled. "A bit jumpy, are we? I'm hungry."

"Forget your hunger!" exclaimed Legolas. "What was that noise?"

"I told you, lad. I'm hungry. Now you know I get a rumbly in my tumbly when I'm famished. Happens the cave magnified the effect-echoes and what not."

Legolas looked at Gimli in disbelief, but just then the Dwarf's stomach rumbled again. The Elf relaxed and began to laugh. "I should not want your 'rumbly tumbly' to bring down the walls of this cave," he jested. "We had better silence it."

The first torch was burning low, so they lit a second torch. Wedging it into a crack in the wall, they spread Legolas's spare cloak upon the floor of the cave and sat down to eat the remainder of the food that the Cook had prepared for them. Legolas was not particularly hungry, but Gimli declared it must be noon and that the hour must be honored. By the time his hunger was satisfied, only the package of biscuits and the lembas in their leaf wrappers had been left untouched. Legolas wisely forbore reminding Gimli of either, in case the Dwarf should become hungry later.

The two friends tidied up their bivouac and shouldered their now much-lighter packs. "Shall we return to the entrance?" Legolas asked.

"Return? That torch is still good, and I have the makings of two more in my pack. Moreover, we have candles to light our way back when the torches give out. Let us go on, lad."

Legolas shrugged. He had no desire to see more of the cave, which lacked the ornate stalactites and stalagmites found at Helm's Deep, but he was willing to humor his friend. They walked on, Legolas now holding the torch while Gimli resumed his running commentary on the natural history of caves. Legolas listened politely, uttering the obligatory "Indeed" from time to time, but his imagination began to wander above ground, amongst the trees that cloaked the slopes surrounding Rivendell. Suddenly, however, Legolas's attention returned to his present environs. He felt vibrations through the soles of his feet, as if the mountain were trembling. "What was that, Gimli?" he asked the Dwarf, who was standing stock still.

"Nothing, lad," the Nauga said quickly. But he remained still, as if waiting for something, and a few minutes later Legolas felt the the ground tremble once more. "I'm hungry again," the Dwarf announced abruptly. "Let us return to the entrance."

"I have biscuits in my pa—," Legolas began.

"Want something more substantial than biscuits," Gimli interrupted. "Let us go. Now."

Gimli began to walk swiftly back in the direction of the entrance, and Legolas, startled, after a moment followed him. As they walked, Legolas again felt the cave vibrate beneath his feet.

"Hurry," urged Gimli, who was now moving at a rapid pace all out of proportion to the shortness of his legs. Legolas thought back to their pursuit of the Uruk-hai across the Plains of Rohan, when he had called over his shoulder to encourage the Dwarf onward. "Come, Gimli! We're gaining on them!" he had shouted, and the Nauga had shouted back, "I'm wasted on cross-country. We Dwarves are natural sprinters. Very dangerous over short distances." Now, outpacing Legolas, even if only by a few steps, Gimli was indeed proving his ability to sprint.

Suddenly the Dwarf came to a halt, pivoted, and threw himself back toward Legolas, knocking the Elf flat on his back and landing atop him. Simultaneously, the walls of the passageway heaved in and out, its floor rose up and fell down again, and with a groan that swelled to a scream, the ceiling of the cave collapsed.

The torch had been knocked from Legolas's hand when Gimli threw himself upon the Elf, and debris had landed upon it, extinguishing it. For several long minutes the two lay silently in a darkness blacker even than that of the Paths of the Death after their torches had failed. "Gimli?" Legolas said at last tentatively. "Aye, lad, I'm here," answered the Dwarf.

"I know you are here," Legolas answered dryly, "for you are lying upon me. Are you injured?"

"Have something lying across my legs, but don't hurt hardly worth mentioning."

"Your legs are not numb, are they?" Legolas asked anxiously.

"No, I can feel 'em. Can wiggle my toes, too. Legolas, can you crawl out from beneath me?"

"I think so."

"Good. You did say you've got candles in your pack, dinnit you?"

"Aye, Gimli."

"Flint and steel?"

"In my pouch."

"Well, then, all's well. Worm your way free and let's have a light."

Legolas thought it premature to proclaim that all was well, but he held his tongue and concentrated on wriggling out from underneath Gimli. Once free, he felt in his pack for a candle and removed from his pouch the tiny case that held his flint, steel, and tinder. He had kindled a flame with this fire-kit so many times that even in the dark he was quickly able to start a little blaze into which he thrust the candle wick. The resulting flame cast only a small, flickering circle of light, but it was enough for him to see that Gimli was calmly lying on his stomach—comfortably, even, for his arms were crossed before him, his chin resting upon them as if he were taking his ease. A rock lay lengthwise across his calves, but the two ends of the rock had each come to rest upon other rocks, so that very little weight rested upon the Dwarf's legs.

"I feel as if I could pull my legs free," the Nauga said, "but I do not wish to take the risk if by doing so I will dislodge other rocks."

"I am certain the rock will not shift," Legolas reassured him, bracing the candle with bits of rock so that he could help his friend extricate himself. Gimli stretched out his arms, and Legolas pulled upon them as the Dwarf wriggled. Soon the Nauga was free. Legolas insisted on examining the Dwarf's legs. It seemed that Gimli's offhand observation that his legs didn't hurt "hardly worth mentioning" was a species of bravado, for a gash ran the length of one calf. Legolas pulled the spare cloak from his pack and cut strips from it. One strip he moistened and used to wipe the dust from his friend's leg. Then he rolled the athelas leaves between his fingers, bruising them to release the beneficial sap. The remaining strips he used to bind the athelas leaves atop the cut. "Glad you brought the cape," Gimli mumbled, a rare concession on his part that Legolas had been right and he wrong.

These ministrations concluded, Gimli pronounced himself quite comfortable. "I'll take those biscuits now, lad," he announced. The two sat side by side quietly nibbling on the biscuits. Afterward, each had a swallow of water followed by a drop of miruvor. Then Legolas hunted about for the dropped torch. Soon he spied its end sticking out from beneath some rubble. Fortunately, it was not buried very deeply. The Elf retrieved and rekindled it, for it would give better light than the candle, which he returned to his pack. Then he assisted Gimli to his feet and held the torch high so that the Nauga might survey the tunnel. For the first time Elf and Dwarf saw that the passage was entirely blocked. They stood in silence for several minutes. "You have got a spade and a pickaxe," Legolas said at last. His friend was a Dwarf, and Dwarves were delvers. Surely, Gimli would be equal to the task of freeing them from the cave.

Gimli continued to silently appraise the rockfall. "Lad," he said, after a few minutes, "that there rockfall is beyond me. It is beyond us," he amended when he saw that Legolas was about to point out that he could wield a shovel.

"Ah, well, then we shall have to be patient," Legolas said stolidly. "Elrond will send someone to look for us when we do not return this evening. Indeed, he may send searchers the sooner, for this earthquake was doubtless felt in the Hall, and he knows we are exploring a cave."

Gimli shook his head. "It will not be a simple matter of digging through to us. Huge slabs have fallen from the roof of the cave. 'Twould take an army of Dwarves armed with pickaxes to break through, and it wouldn't be no overnight job, neither."

"Is there no other way?" asked Legolas. He had passed more time underground than most Elves, but there had always been a way out of the caverns into which he had entered. Thranduil's Great Hall in Eryn Lasgalen had many entrances, and at Moria, when the west door was blocked, he had had Gandalf to reassure him that a four-days march would take the Fellowship to the stairs that led down to the Dimrill Dale. Even when Legolas had followed Aragorn onto the Paths of the Dead, he had done so knowing that he had taken the first step on a journey that would take them beneath a mountain to an adit on the other side. They would have to run a gauntlet of the dead, but like Aragorn, Legolas did not fear the shades of the departed. Entombment, however, he did fear.

"Is there no other way?" the Elf repeated.

"If your kin have on hand some of Saruman's infernal blasting powder—aye, and know how to use it—they could win through to us," Gimli mused.

"They do not have such a powder," Legolas said somberly. "But," he said, rallying, "There is Gandalf's magic. When my kin realize it is impossible to dig us out, they will send to Gandalf. With his staff and an incantation, Mithrandir will clear a path."

"He will clear a path," agreed Gimli. "But," the Dwarf went on, "he will use no magic. Where do you think Saruman got that blasting powder, lad?"

"Foul sorcery," Legolas replied promptly.

"Foul sorcery? Then you think our Gandalf is a evil conjuror, Legolas?"

Nonplussed, Legolas stared worriedly at the Dwarf. Was their entombment beginning to affect his friend? Were they already running out of air, perchance? "What do you mean, Gimli?" the Elf asked cautiously.

"Saruman got that blasting powder from Gandalf," Gimli answered. "Or the idea for it, anyway," he added.

"No!" exclaimed Legolas.

"Yes," Gimli said firmly. "I have spent some time thinking about the matter and am convinced that Saruman's blasting shells were akin to Gandalf's fireworks. Our friend used the powder to propel shells into the air, where a second explosion would unleash sounds and colors most marvelous. Saruman, on the other hand, concentrated the power of the powder so that it might destroy flesh and stone. One used his discovery to delight onlookers; the other dealt out death."

Legolas considered. "'Tis probable that you are right, Gimli. But as you say, Gandalf has never used his fireworks to break apart stone. Do you think he could do so?"

"Oh, yes. Gandalf never chose to use the destructive power of his shells, but I cannot believe that he did not understand their potential. Be sure he will be able to adapt them to our needs. Indeed, I wonder why he did not make use of them against our foes. Might have made our task the easier."

"I suspect," Legolas said thoughtfully, pushing aside his concern at their plight as he thought of his mentor, "that Gandalf believed some weapons ought not to be employed, regardless of what advantage one might gain in the short term."

Gimli considered for several moments. "Aye," he said at last. "A blasting powder would be fearsomely destructive and liable to injure anyone in its vicinity, whether warrior or no. But now the cat is out of the bag, as it were, I reckon we had better master its secrets, for be sure that our enemies shall. They shall shoot shells as Gandalf did, but they shall be larger and more dangerous."

"Yes," Legolas agreed sadly. "I foresee the day when the field of battle will be pocked with craters blasted by devices descended from Saruman's, and in those craters will lie the broken bodies of warriors who never had the opportunity to face their foes but were slain from afar.

The two friends sat quietly for awhile. Suddenly Gimli leaped to his feet. "Well, that's enough of that," he said briskly. "Time to move on."

Legolas looked at him in surprise. "But, Gimli," he protested, "are we not agreed that Elrond will send for Gandalf, and with Gandalf's aid a passage shall be cleared? We shouldn't wander away from here, for we must wait for our friends to break through."

"No, we mustn't," returned Gimli. "First, a cave may have several exits. Couldn't hurt if we explore a bit in hopes of finding one. 'Twould save our friends a deal of trouble if we did. Then, too, we need to find a source of water, a moisture seep. Whilst we await our friends, we can survive on short rations, but a body can't do without water. I reckon that's true even for an Elf."

Legolas nodded ruefully.

"We should also hunt about," Gimli continued, "to keep ourselves occupied. I am a Dwarf, but even I should soon grow jittery if I had naught to do but sit about brooding o'er the fact that tons of rock stood between me and fresh victuals. Elrond sets a good table!"

Legolas smiled. Gimli's latter words were spoken as lightly as if arriving late for the evening meal were the only peril they faced. Then he startled slightly as the cave shook anew. A few small pieces of rock fell from the ceiling, one of them landing by Legolas's foot.

"Don't mind that, lad," Gimli said quickly. "A large earthquake will be followed by several smaller ones, just as it was presaged by several. Come, let us explore a bit. If we are walking about, we will hardly notice those little hiccoughs."

"Hiccoughs?" said Legolas.

"Aye, hiccoughs. The earth is always in motion, as I said to you before, but generally it rises and falls gently, as regularly as the breathing of a sleeping baby. Those earthquakes and volcanoes I told you about, those are the hiccoughs."

Gimli loosened his pack a little, reached in, and pulled out a ball of twine. "Now we do need this," he told Legolas.

"I have twine as well," the Elf reminded him.

Gimli nodded. "Good. I don't fear being unable to retrace my path to this spot, but we must leave a trail for our friends. The arrows scratched into the ground were well enough, but I think now we want to leave a trail more certain than traces what might be o'erlooked or obscured in the aftermath of an earthquake."

Gimli tied the end of the twine around a rock heavy enough so that it would not shift as he unreeled the twine. Then they set off, the twine unwinding more and more as they went deeper into the cave. They saw no sign of a way out, and after a time their torch began to splutter. "We'd best light a candle," Gimli said. "We should reserve the last two torches in case we must go through broken passages where a stronger light would stand us in good stead."

Legolas nodded. He pulled a candle from his pack and lit it at the failing torch. Then he looked at the roll of twine in Gimli's hand. It was much diminished. Gimli caught his glance. "Best take out your roll of twine, lad," he said gruffly. Legolas removed it and handed to the Dwarf, who securely knotted together the ends of the two rolls. The two friends set out again. The candle was burning low, and the second roll of twine running short when they emerged from a narrow passageway into a larger chamber. Legolas looked about bemusedly. He felt as if he had been in this chamber on some another occasion. Perplexed, he carefully studied the walls of the cave. Gimli bent and picked up an object. "Looks like the remnants of a torch," he said, straightening. "Wonder who brought it here."

"Elrohir did," Legolas exclaimed excitedly. Suddenly he knew why the chamber looked familiar. "Gimli, I told you that Elrohir was once trapped in a cave by a rockfall. But this was not his only misadventure beneath the earth. Once, after a great rainfall, a mudslide uncovered an entrance into a cavern. Elladan and Elrohir found it, and Elrohir crawled in to explore. Whilst he was within, it began to rain again. The saturated soil could hold no more moisture, and water started to pour into the cave entrance. Elladan looked about frantically for something he could make into a torch so that he might go after his brother. Elrohir had contrived a light that he took with him into the cave, but now his twin could not manage to get anything to kindle. When I came upon him, he had given up on making a torch and was about to run to the Hall for help. But the Hall was far away and, anyway, the entrance was too small to admit a grown Elf. I offered to go down instead."

"Ah," Gimli said, nodding. "Clever lad! You had thought to keep the makings of a torch in your park, safe from rain. You think more like a Dwarf than an Elf, you do, for all your ears are pointy!"

"I cannot claim such credit," answered Legolas, laughing. "I had nothing with which to make a torch."

"You had a candle, then."

Legolas shook his head.

"Then how did you propose to go after Elrohir without you had a light? Trust an Elf not to have thought of _**that**_! You don't give no more thought to the practical than a half-grown Hobbit."

Legolas laughed again, this time at how quickly he had changed in Gimli's eyes from being being as clever as a Dwarf to as foolish as a juvenile Halfling.

"I had no need of a torch, Gimli," he resumed the tale, "because I had once suffered an injury that for several months deprived me of my eyesight. During that time I had learned to move about by touch and by ear. And now I intended to use those two senses to guide me in an attempt to warn Elrohir of his peril."

Gimli's manner changed at once, from dismissive to frankly admiring. "That was good thinking," he said forthrightly. "And brave, too," he continued, "I don't know many Dwarves what would have gone into a flooding cave without a torch, or leastways a candle. But tell on."

"I trailed my hand along a wall as I went," Legolas explained, "and I kept count of side passages, which I would recognize by the break in the wall if they were on my side and the change in temperature if they were on the other side. I called out to Elrohir at each passage, and when he did not answer I went on. All the time the water was rising. At last I came to a point where the ceiling dipped down so low that the water blocked my way. I resolved to swim until I judged that I had used up half the air in my lungs and then turn back if I had not won through. As it happened, I reached an air pocket before that point came, and in it I found Elrohir. His torch, the one you see there, was near burning out, and until I surfaced into its waning light, he feared that he might drown in the dark. Still, he was reluctant to swim from the air pocket, especially when he realized that I had not cached a torch on the other side of the barrier. I swore to him that I would be able to retrace my steps without one. In the end, he had no choice but to trust me, for the water was continuing to rise and it seemed likely that the chamber that had been a sanctuary for Elrohir would soon be his tomb."

Gimli nodded somberly. If it had been Elrohir's tomb, it would have been Legolas's as well. The Dwarf knew that his friend would never have left his foster-brother to die alone.

"So Elrohir consented to swim under the barrier, and you led him out the same way you had come," the Nauga said aloud. He cleared his throat, trying to disguise the tremble in his voice. "Well, lad," he continued, his voice growing steadier, "that was a fine tale. And the long and the short of it is that there is a second entrance to this cave. Let us make for it. If we hurry, we will still be in time for dinner."

"But, Gimli, you are forgetting that the reason I went after Elrohir was in part because the entrance to the cave was so small that a grown Elf could not have entered. We will not get out that way."

Gimli burst into laughter. "Lad, you are so proud of your eyesight, but you are not using it now. What have I got strapped to my pack?"

"Oh. Of course. A pickaxe."

"And a spade, too. Elf though ye be, you do know what these tools are for?"

"Yes, Gimli," Legolas said sheepishly.

"Well, then, lead me to the entrance, I shall enlarge it, and then, Bob's your uncle, we shall have a grand tale to tell at dinner."

Legolas smiled as Gimli again proclaimed his eagerness to partake of the evening meal. Willingly, the Elf took the lead, and in spite of the passage of decades, he was able to guide Gimli unerringly to the opening that he and Elrohir had once wriggled through. Gimli examined it. "Mainly dirt and pebbles," he announced after a few minutes. "Observe, Legolas, that it is but the skin of the mountain, not the rock itself but the earth that covers it, laid down over centuries, a deposit of dust and of fragments eroded from the mountain and washed down to its base. 'Twill be easy to break through."

Legolas smiled. As always, Gimli was eloquent on the subject of geology, but also as always, he had concluded his oration with a return to the practicality for which he prided himself. All business, with nimble fingers the Dwarf swiftly unstrapped his pack. Handing the spade to Legolas, he went to work determinedly with the pickaxe. With an economy of effort born of years of practice, he methodically chipped at the barrier. As it crumbled beneath his pick, Legolas shoveled away the debris. Before too long, the opening was wide enough for the slender Elf to squeeze through. "You go out and ply your spade from the other side," Gimli instructed. Legolas obeyed, lying on his stomach and squeezing through. He was not as practiced with the spade as Gimli was with the pick, but in a short time he removed a considerable amount of dirt and rock from around the entrance to the cave. Suddenly Gimli's head poked through. "Hold!" shouted the Dwarf, and Legolas checked his shovel just in time. "I know you have accused me at times of having a head full of rocks," grumbled the Nauga, "but I thought you were speaking metaphoristically."

"I never said your head was full of rocks," Legolas retorted. "I said you were a blockhead."

"Howsomever," Gimli replied, "I pray you not apply that spade to my neck. I am fond of my head and would like to keep it attached to my shoulders. Which, by the by, cannot get through. Just dig away a little more to either side, and then I shall be free."

Gimli withdrew his head, and Legolas dug away first on one side and then the other. "Will that suffice?" he called into the opening after a little while. "Yes," came the reply. Gimli pushed out their packs and passed the pickaxe to Legolas and afterward crawled through the enlarged passage. "Well," he said, standing up and brushing a little dirt out of his beard, "that was a fine excursion. Interesting cave system, plenty of exercise. And judging by the sun, we are still in time for dinner!"

Legolas laughed at Gimli's indefatigable pursuit of a good meal, and the Dwarf cheerfully joined in. He did not mind that Legolas found his foibles amusing, for his friend's laughter was friendly rather than cruel.

The two shouldered their packs and began the trek back to Elrond's Great Hall. Their way would take them past their entry point into the cave, and as they neared it they heard a hubbub of voices. "Sounds like the rescue party," Gimli observed.

"Aye," said Legolas. "As I expected, Elrond immediately sent out scouts to make certain of our safety. Finding the entrance to the cave blocked, they have begun their efforts to free us from our tomb."

The two friends strolled around a corner, where, their backs to the self-rescued duo, a party of Elves superintended by Glorfindel was vigorously wielding spades. "You there, Figwit," Gimli called, "you are not holding that tool aright. Every shovelful you toss goes into the face of the fellow beside you."

Surprised, Figwit spun about, his shovel clipping the head of his unfortunate companion.

"Are you sure that younker don't have a human in the woodpile?" said Gimli, shaking his head. "I wouldn't expect an Elf to field a spade with the skill of a Dwarf, but he ought to be able to do better than _**that**_!"

"I have never heard it said that Figwit has any human ancestry," Legolas said. "But," he added, "it would explain a lot!"

By now Glorfindel was descending upon them. The balrog-slayer seized Legolas by the shoulders. Torn between the desire to embrace him or shake him, the balrog-slayer settled on squeezing Legolas's shoulders so fiercely that the younger Elf winced. Given his protégée an apologetic look, Glorfindel released him and turned to Gimli. "Well, Master Dwarf," the elf lord said, "I see by the dirt on your spade and pickaxe that we have you to thank for saving us the trouble of tunneling into that mountain."

Gimli gave a stiff-legged bow in acknowledgement of the compliment. "I cannot claim all the credit," he replied graciously. "I plied the pick, but Legolas wielded the spade."

"Thank you, Gim—" Legolas began, but, his stock of graciousness apparently having been expended, the Dwarf forged on in a different vein. "Of course," the Nauga continued haughtily, "had he wielded it the better, we would have been out the sooner, but I shall let that pass."

"Which you have not," Legolas retorted.

"Pardon?"

"You have not let it pass."

"But I just did," argued Gimli.

"Then you wouldn't have said anything about it at all," Legolas shot back.

"Hah!" gloated Gimli. "So you acknowledge that there was something I could have said nothing about!"

Legolas looked appealingly at Glorfindel. The balrog-slayer grinned. "He has you there, Legolas. Your words imply that Gimli spoke of something that had better have been left unsaid—thereby confirming that there was indeed something to discuss!"

Erestor not being there to scold him, Legolas rolled his eyes until Glorfindel laughingly told him that his orbs would escape his head. "And very pretty marbles they will make, too," he teased. "As blue as cornflowers."

Gimli snorted. "Bachelor's buttons," he chortled. "That's what the Men of Dale call cornflowers."

"Why do they call them that?" Legolas asked, his pique replaced by curiosity.

"The young Men wear 'em when they go a'courting. Buttoners, they call 'em. Poke the stems through the buttonholes. Not something a Dwarf would do, mind you."

Legolas smiled fondly at the Dwarf. No, he could not imagine his friend adorning himself with flowers. Then he looked away from his friend and toward the sound of approaching hoofbeats. Around a bend in the trail galloped Elrond. When he saw Legolas and Gimli, he pulled up and a relieved smile spread over his face. "You pair successfully traverse the Paths of the Dead," he called, "yet you fall afoul of a cavern within the borders of Imladris itself."

"It was the Elf," Gimli called back.

"How am I to blame?" Legolas protested.

"I reckon an Elf in a cave is like a woman on a ship," Gimli replied. "Trader in Gondor told me that sailors know it to be fearful bad luck to have a woman aboard, so I reckon there wouldn't have been no earthquake if Legolas hadn't gone into the cave."

"If you believe that, why did you insist I accompany you?" Legolas shot back.

Gimli shrugged. "Same reason Men bring women onto ships regardless of the danger, I reckon. The woman are entertaining; so are you."

Legolas hardly knew how to look at being compared to a sailor's doxy. He suspected though, that to Gimli the comparison was an entirely innocent one. Glorfindel, to be sure, was smirking, and Legolas was certain that tale would reach the ears of Elladan and Elrohir, the latter of whom would be sure to make hay with it.

Elrond was smiling at the Dwarf, whose frankness he found endearing. "Master Gimli," he called, "Have you an appetite? The Cook is aggrieved that the dishes sit upon the table untasted. Will you not put paid to his complaints?"

"I am always ready to do my duty," Gimli assured him stoutly, "and as I am a renowned trencherman, the Cook shall soon have no cause to lament his neglected dishes. Be it spoon, be it spade—I will ply either tool handily."

Legolas laughed out loud at his friend's puns, the Elf's pique once again melting away at Gimli's bluff good humor. "You are indeed a trencherman," he smiled at the Dwarf, "and a trenchant one, too."

"I don't know that word," Gimli said cheerfully, "but you don't utter it as if was anything to be ashamed of—and therefore I thankee. But have you not heard it said that it is good to save one's breath to cool one's porridge? I am hungry. I want my supper!"

Legolas laughed again. The rescue party had brought extra horses, and now Legolas happily mounted one. Glorfindel boosted Gimli up behind Legolas, and a cheerful company returned to the Great Hall to do justice to the Head Cook's handiwork. One likely to be aggrieved, however, was Gandalf, for Elrond had sent a messenger after the wizard. The elf lord considered and then abandoned the idea of sending a second messenger to recall the first. 'It is unlikely', he said to himself, 'that the second messenger will be able to o'ertake the first in time to prevent Gandalf from setting out to return hence. It is just as well. Gandalf's remaining time in Middle-earth is limited. Hereafter he will be much in the company of Frodo and Bilbo. Let him return, then, and spend time with Legolas, for whom his passing will be a great blow'.

Thus rejoicing in the recovery of his foster-son, but sobered by the thought of future losses, Elrond returned with the others to Rivendell.


	67. Chapter 67: Returning to the Road

**My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers of Chapter 66: _butterfly ninja,_ _CAH, Enna Namo, LAHH, _and_ leralonde_.**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of _The Hobbit _and_ The Lord of the Rings_. The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as _The Silmarillion_. **

**Chapter 67: Returning to the Road.**

"Gimli and Legolas trapped in a cave? Nonsense!" huffed the wizard.

"'Tis true, my lord," Lindir insisted. "Imladris was struck by an earthquake, and many buildings were damaged. An immense crack has opened in the Great Hall itself, and Lord Erestor may not use his study until it is repaired."

"Good! Erestor spends too much time in that chamber. So this earthquake has done no harm and may in fact have done some good."

"But, my lord," protested the Elf, "as I have said, Gimli and Legolas are trapped beneath the earth."

"Stuff and nonsense," grumbled Gandalf. "It may be that they were trapped for a spell, but I'll warrant that between the two of them they discovered a way out during the time it took you to find me. Elrond has sent you on a fool's errand."

"But what if they _**are**_ entombed within a cave?" argued Lindir.

"They are not," Gandalf repeated stubbornly.

"If you return with me," the Elf tried again, "and they are safe, you will have lost nothing, for you know you should have returned to Imladris shortly even if Elrond had not sent for you. If you do not return and they are entombed, you will have failed to come to the aid of friends in peril."

Wizard though he was, Gandalf could think of no rebuttal to Lindir's argument, although he was not about to admit that this was the case.

"Since you are so importunate on the subject," he settled on as a reply, "I will accompany you to set you at ease. But what shall my recompense be when the journey turns out to be for naught?"

"Excellent meals at Elrond's table," Lindir said promptly. "Accompanied by wines of fine vintage," he continued, "followed by songs and tales and good fellowship, and then a comfortable night's sleep on a fine mattress."

"Hmph!" snorted Gandalf, but he returned to Tom Bombadil's cottage to inform his host that, reluctantly, he would be departing with the elven messenger who had ridden up not half an hour earlier. Iarwain Ben-adar was not surprised in the least. As was usual with the Oldest, he seemed to know all about Lindir and his errand even before Gandalf spoke.

"Hey nonny nonny," he sang,

"Lindir, Elf so bonny,

Has journeyed from afar,

Mithrandir's joy to mar."

"I did not come to mar Mithrandir's joy," Lindir protested.

"You may mar a man's joy even if you did not set out to do so," Gandalf observed, enjoying Lindir's confusion. But as you are so sensitive on the subject, perhaps you _**did**_ set out to pluck me from this pleasant place."

"_**I**_ should not have set out at all," Lindir retorted. "I was enjoying a dalliance when a messenger ran into the garden and told me that I was to go in pursuit of you."

"I hope that was not Glorfindel's niece you were dallying with," said Gandalf, who had heard of the outcome of one such assignation. Glorfindel took his responsibilities as an uncle very seriously.

"No! I assure you it was not! I was passing time with one of Erestor's kinswomen."

"Good. Erestor won't threaten you with a penalty any more fearsome than the writing of an essay upon the subject of misapplied time and dangerous liaisons."

Tom had left the cottage to find his spouse Goldberry, and now the two returned together. "The sun hastens to his home in the west," Goldberry observed. "You cannot mean to depart now dusk is falling."

"We must, my lady," Lindir replied. "Our errand is an anxious one."

"'Tis best to make haste slowly," Goldberry replied. "If you leave upon the instant, it will take you an entire night to journey—in a circle. For be certain that on the morrow you shall again find yourself standing before the door of this cottage."

"Goldberry is right," Tom chuckled. "The trees are bolder and more mischievous in the night than in the day. As soon as the sun has tucked himself in for the night, the trees will tangle the paths into never-ending knots. You may as well enjoy a fine meal and a soft bed and set out from here in the morning—far preferable than setting out from here in the morning after spending a miserable night stumbling over tree roots."

"Tom and Goldberry speak the truth," Gandalf assured Lindir. "On the morrow we will be here whether we linger or leave—so we may as well linger."

Lindir agreed resignedly, but his mood improved when Tom and Goldberry spread the bounty of garden and forest upon the table that took pride of place in their comfortable cottage. No dishes of meat, fowl, or fish were furnished, but Lindir did not rue their absence as he feasted upon scones and barm cakes, clotted cream and cheese, and fruit of every description." You have served all possible fruits," he marveled, "but not all are in season. How is this possible?"

"In my garden, all fruits are ever in season," Goldberry assured him.

"Tom and Goldberry are ageless," Gandalf said, "and so is their garden. Without its confines, however, the seasons and the years hold sway."

"Are you Elves, then?" Lindir asked his host and hostess. "You do not look like any Elves I have ever met!"

"The simple call us Fair Folk, but we are not numbered amongst that race," Tom replied, smiling.

"Tom and Goldberry have a magic of their own," Gandalf observed. "But, come. It grows late. Let us retire. If your errand is so urgent, we should get an early start."

They did retire, but their start was not as early as it might have been. When Gandalf and Lindir arose, they found the table set for breakfast, and although Lindir had gone to bed resolved that they should eat in the saddle, somehow, he knew not how, he found himself again at table. The sun was above the trees when they at last set out.

"Do not fret, Lindir," Gandalf reassured the Elf as they rode away from the cottage. "We shall cross the Downs and reach the Great Road ere dusk. Anyway, by now Legolas and Gimli have surely escaped the cave."

Gandalf was of course correct—Legolas and Gimli had been free long before Lindir arrived at Tom and Goldberry's cottage. Lindir did not share Gandalf's certainty; however, there was no way to speed their journey, and, Lindir, being an Elf, did not rail against that which could not be changed.

In Rivendell, meanwhile, Legolas was restless. He knew that Gandalf had been sent for, and now he wanted to ride out to meet him.

"I don't see why we shouldn't wait for him here," Gimli observed as he contentedly demolished a scone slathered with butter. "The distance he rides will not be lessened in the least if we meet him."

"If he is assured of our safety, he may not find it necessary to journey on to Rivendell," Legolas retorted. "If so, the distance he travels may indeed be lessened."

"If he has finished his business in the west, he will not turn back but will return to Rivendell, as he would have done eventually anyway," Gimli retorted.

Legolas changed his tack. "We neither of us shall know the truth of the matter unless we go forth to meet him," he said. "But perhaps," he added slyly, "you are afraid of being proved wrong."

"I cannot venture whether I am afraid of being proved wrong," Gimli shot back, "for I have no experience in such a matter, being, as I am, always right."

"You cannot say that you are always right without putting this matter to the test," Legolas challenged.

"_**I**_ am not afraid of putting it to the test," Gimli rejoined. "Indeed, I am so confident of my correctness that I will make you a wager."

Legolas instantly grew cautious. "What would you wager?" he asked suspiciously.

"If I am right, you must accompany me to the Lonely Mountain," the Dwarf chortled.

Legolas had of course always intended to journey with Gimli to Erebor whenever the Dwarf wished. Still, he pretended reluctance. "The Lonely Mountain? Another cave? Very well, if those are your terms—but I am glad you are not likely to win this wager!"

"I will win it," Gimli proclaimed. "Nevertheless, to complete the game, you must name your conditions should you prove right."

"You must journey with me to a forest," Legolas said promptly.

Now it was Gimli's turn to look distressed. "A forest? Durn it, Legolas, haven't we spent enough time stumbling around in those nasty, drasty places. Wargs and wolves, that's what they harbor—or spiders big as mûmakils, with temperaments to match."

"You mean mûmakil," Legolas corrected him, forgetting his resolution to let his friend's linguistic lapses go unmarked. "The singular is mûmak, the plural mûmakil."

"Don't you be correctifying my speech," Gimli objected. "Anyhow, I don't speak no Harad lingo, and in the Common Speech, it's mûmakils."

"If it's Common Speech you mean to follow," argued Legolas, "it ought to be mûmaks. You have made the word doubly plural by using both the 'il' and the 's'."

"Don't see why that would be a problem. There were a prodigious amount of them at Minas Tirith."

"Number."

"Pardon?"

"There were a prodigious number of them at Minas Tirith."

"That's what I said, you fool Elf!"

"No, you said there were a prodigious amount of them at Minas Tirith."

"Yes, that's what I said!" Gimli repeated in frustration.

"That's not what _**I**_ said," Legolas retorted. "You can't have an amount of Mûmakil."

"Well, then what _**were**_ those beasts rampaging about on the Pelennor Field—ponies?"

"A _**number**_ of Mûmakil," Legolas replied provokingly. "And the battle took place on the Pelennor _**Fields**_," he added.

"I _**know**_ where the battle took place!" Gimli growled, now doubly frustrated.

"Then why didn't you say so?" Legolas grinned mischievously.

"I _**did**_!" roared Gimli, flinging a scone at his friend. Legolas ducked, and the scone flew over his head, hitting Glorfindel in the chest as he entered the room.

"Did that scone not meet with your favor, Master Gimli?" the balrog slayer said mildly as he bent to pick up the offending comestible.

"This daft Elf has been splitting hairs," the Dwarf complained.

"Indeed? But as you possess a great quantity of said hairs," Glorfindel replied, "would he not need to split a large number before he did any damage?"

'Number', mouthed Legolas, grinning, but Gimli ignored him. "There is truth in what you say, Lord Glorfindel," the Nauga said. "I am well provided with hairs, whilst that beardless boy has few. I suppose on that account I can afford to overlook his foolishness."

"I am glad you take it in that fashion," Glorfindel said gravely. "Legolas is a scamp, and on that account those more mature than he must show forbearance."

Gimli shot a triumphant glance at Legolas, who shrugged. "You must still accompany me to a forest if I win the wager," the Elf said. The Dwarf subsided. "Which forest?" he asked anxiously.

Legolas pretended to think. "There are many to choose from," he said slowly, "and each perilous in its own way."

At the word 'perilous', Gimli stuffed his beard in his mouth to stifle a groan.

"Some are dangerous on account of the trees themselves," Legolas continued.

"Fangorn," Gimli muttered through his beard.

"And others," Legolas went on, "are dangerous on account of the creatures that are harbored within their depths."

"Mirkwood," Gimli scowled.

"In the forest to which we will journey," continued Legolas, "dwells one who might have been as beautiful and terrible as the dawn and as treacherous as the sea. Stronger than the foundations of the earth, she could have chosen to be an object of both love and despair."

Gimli spat out his beard. "The Lady," he cried. "If I lose the wager, we shall journey to Lothlórien!"

"I hope you can contain your disappointment," Legolas said dryly.

Gimli now looked as if he were eager to lose the bet. "Well, lad," he said cheerfully, "let us pack for our journey. 'Tis a long way to Lothlórien."

"Tom Bombadil's cottage, for now," Legolas corrected. "Remember that Elrond said he believed Gandalf would make for it."

"Tom Bumble's cottage," Gimli echoed. "'Tis an even longer way to Lothlórien, then, for we must go by way of that place. Let us pack!"

Smiling, Legolas bid good day to Glorfindel and accompanied his friend back to the chamber they shared. "It was past time for us to return to the road, lad," the Dwarf expostulated. "We were growing soft, we were."

Only that morning Gimli had been extolling the praises of his down duvet, but Legolas wisely forbore pointing out this fact. The Elf did, however, observe that the way from Tom Bombadil's cottage to Lothlórien would take them back to Rivendell, so it was only needful to pack enough for the shorter journey. This did not, however, check Gimli, who was excitedly itemizing such a lengthy list of supplies that Legolas gently teased that a train of packhorses might be required to carry them all. It seemed that, contemplating a visit to the Lady, Gimli suddenly wanted spare clothes—lots of them, and all clean and in good repair.

"I'm not certain this jerkin will survive the journey," the Dwarf said, looking down at the leather vest that had outlived Moria, the siege of Helm's Deep, the Paths of the Dead, the Battle of Pelennor Fields, and the march to the Black Gate of Mordor. Legolas eyed the garment. "It is well protected by a layer of dust," he observed, tongue in cheek. "I do not think it will come to any harm."

"Oh, but that layer of dust demonstrates how dry it is. I am afraid the leather will crack. I'd best wear something newer, mayhap something made of cloth."

Edwen Nana, Legolas's foster mother, had sewn many garments for Gimli. Hitherto, they had lain untouched in a clothespress. Now the Dwarf threw open the chest and began to rummage through the neatly folded garments. Each was festooned with embroidery, but Gimli, who had frequently twitted Legolas on the deer that grazed on his sleeves and the hares that gamboled on his cuffs, suddenly overlooked the presence of these and other animals on the garments that he proposed to wear.

"Happens we forge a river, one tunic may get wet," he harrumphed. "Happens we forge another river, another tunic may get wet. Might happen three, four, five times. I shall prepare against that eventuality," he continued, pulling out tunic after tunic. To the rapidly growing pile of tunics, he added leggings, hose, and small clothes. Had Legolas had a beard, he would have bit it to keep from laughing. As it was, he made an excuse to leave Gimli to his packing and went in search of Elrond.

"Adar-nín," the young Elf said when he found his foster-father, "Gimli and I are going to ride out to meet Gandalf."

"I expected you would," Elrond replied, putting aside the manuscript he was studying. "And after you have reassured him of your safety, you may wish to go on to the Shire. If you want to have a few quiet words with Frodo, that would be my advice."

"Frodo is leaving Middle-earth soon, then?"

"Yes. Gandalf will come back to collect Bilbo, and then the three of them will journey to the Grey Havens."

"And you, Elrond?"

"My choice was irrevocable. To me Middle-earth is forfeit. Yet it is allowed that I remain until Arwen has given birth to my grandson. After I have given the child my blessing, I too shall journey to Mithlond. Elrohir and Elladan shall accompany me."

Legolas walked to the window and looked out at the garden in which he had spent hours in recreation as a youngster and in reflection as an adult. How long, he wondered, would it take for the forest to obliterate the signs that Elves had once lived in this place. A long time in the life of a Man, but a short time in the life of an Elf. The wood of the gazebo would decay and its framework collapse. Vines would overtake the statue of Gil-galad, their roots would force their way into tiny cracks in the surface of the marble, and the sculpture would eventually shatter as if vandalized by Orcs. He turned and looked about Elrond's study. The tiles of the roof of the Great Hall would one by one loosen and fall to the ground. The rain would enter this room. The wainscot would moulder, and the mortar between the flagstones would crumble as the stones alternately froze and thawed.

Elrond came to stand beside him. "Nothing in Ennor can remain forever," he said dispassionately.

"Nothing?"

"No. Neither the works of Man, Dwarf, or Elf can withstand the power of Time."

Legolas remembered the riddle that Bilbo had posed. "Time," he murmured. "It all things devours: birds, beasts, trees, flowers; gnaws iron, bites steel; grinds hard stones to meal; slays king, ruins town, and beats high mountain down. Elrond, is there nothing that can defeat time?"

"I suppose," Elrond answered, in a sly imitation of Erestor, "that one might argue that 'nothing' is not subject to the depredations of time since it is, as one must concede, incapable of being reduced to less than it already is. From that perspective, it would be true that nothing _**can**_ defeat time."

Legolas shook his head. "It is no wonder that you and Bilbo get along so well," he exclaimed. "Both of you love to pun. But, Elrond, you know perfectly well that I was asking whether any _**one**_ thing can defeat time—although I must point out that you yourself used the word 'nothing' when you declared that '_**nothing**_ in Middle-earth remains forever'."

"Which is of course true," Elrond replied, smiling. "That nothing will remain is a certainty." He laughed at the young Elf's grimace, but then grew serious.

"Legolas, Time may be held at bay as long as one person lives to tell a story and another lives to hear it. For that reason Elves and Dwarves and Hobbits and Ents—Dragons and Trolls, too—shall dwell in Ennor as long as Men do."

"Then Time may indeed be defeated?" Legolas said hopefully.

"I said that Time may be held at bay, not defeated," Elrond replied gently. "Middle-earth itself is subject to Time. It had a beginning; it will have an ending. And like Ennor, Man as a race will live its allotted span of life. Indeed, Man's time may come to an end even before Middle-earth has run its course."

"Have all our struggles been for naught, then?" Legolas protested. "We fought to secure Middle-earth for mankind, and now you tell me that Man will perish, as will Middle-earth itself. Why did we go to the trouble to protect a doomed race?"

"Tell me, Legolas, is the day's eye less beautiful because its lifespan is brief?"

The young Elf conceded that the flower was beautiful even though it only bloomed for a few weeks. "I suppose," he added "that one could argue that the days of its blooming are all the more precious because they are so few."

"Indeed, one could," Elrond agreed. "That which is scarce is frequently accounted more precious than that which is common."

"I doubt, though," Legolas said wryly, "that a Man would rejoice in the fact that his days were numbered."

"Perhaps not, but will he value any less the days that he does have? Tell me, Legolas, when a youngster is told that a game must be brief, does he gather up his toys and refuse to play?"

Legolas laughed. "He may protest, but when he realizes that the adults will not yield, he will throw himself vigorously into making the most of the time that he does have. I have some experience in this matter and know whereof I speak!"

Elrond joined in Legolas's laughter. "We are agreed, then," he resumed, smiling, "that a Man, knowing that he must die, will not consider his days to be the less precious."

"On the contrary—he will value them the more!"

"And a Man, given the choice between no life and a brief life, almost invariably will choose the latter?"

"Yes," agreed Legolas. "And," he added, "I suppose it follows that our efforts have not been wasted if we have secured for Men a little of the time that they value so highly."

"I believe that to be the case. Moreover, you must remember that a span of time that may seem brief to an Elf will seem lengthy to a Man. And although the race of Man shall one day fail, many years shall pass before that event takes place. It can hardly be said, therefore, that our efforts have been for naught, when the beneficiaries of those efforts will find them to be anything but."

"Do you think that this knowledge will give Frodo comfort?" Legolas asked.

Elrond smiled. "You must ask him yourself, my son," he answered. "Now go. Your friend Gimli shall have packed by now and will be waiting impatiently."

"As to that," Legolas said wryly, "I may have to beg a pack horse of the ostler. Gimli wants to carry so many spare garments that the bundle may be too large for Arod to bear."

"Gimli wishes to pack spare garments? I believe you said he took a blow to the head at the siege of Helm's Deep. That injury must account for this sudden interest in spare garments."

Elrond smiled as he spoke, and Legolas smiled in return. "Perhaps," the younger Elf said gaily, "the change is in keeping with our late passage from the Third Age to the Fourth. Surely so great a transformation as Gimli's is an epochal sign."

Both Elves laughed, and then Legolas took his leave, returning to his and Gimli's chamber, where he found the Dwarf still fussing over his wardrobe. Legolas reminded his friend that they would stop back in Rivendell on their way to Lothlórien and gradually persuaded Gimli to carry no more extra garments than Legolas himself would pack. "One to wear, one to wash," said the Elf, reciting one of Glorfindel's precepts.

"You carried more than that on our Quest," protested Gimli.

"No, I did not," Legolas retorted.

"You did! How else can you explain your garments always being clean?"

"I simply never got them dirty in the first place," Legolas replied loftily. "You must allow," he added, breaking into a mischievous grin, "that my clothes are further away from the ground than yours. Hence there is less opportunity for their being soiled."

Suddenly Legolas gasped as Gimli splashed the contents of an ewer upon him.

"I saw a speck of dirt upon your tunic," the Dwarf said sweetly. "Must have come from a dust mote. I reckon you, being tall and all, must have walked through a cloud of 'em. Not a peril I'm subject to, myself."

Grown Elf though he was, Legolas shivered a little as he pulled off the wet tunic and reached for a dry one. The ewer had been filled with icy spring water, which, while refreshing to drink, was not intended for bathing.

Newly clad, Legolas shouldered his pack and picked up his bow, and Gimli followed suit, his weapon of choice, as usual, a great axe. Thus equipped, the two friends made their way to the stable, where Arod awaited them. Gimli snorted when he saw the bells attached to the horse's headstall. "What is this frippery?" he demanded of his friend. "It is the way of Elves to attach bells to the harnesses of their steeds when stealth is not necessary," Legolas explained." The tintinnabulation of the bells is most pleasing."

"The tintin-what?"

"Tintinnabulation," repeated Legolas. "The melodious tinkling of the bells in time to the cantering of the horse."

Gimli snorted again. "Daft Elf," he muttered. Legolas, used to the epithet, ignored it, and gave Gimli a hand up. Then they rode out of Rivendell, steadily climbing the winding trail up the mountainside until no one in Rivendell, not even the keenest-eared Elf, could have heard the gentle tinkling of the bells that marked their passage back into the lands ruled by Mortals.


	68. Chapter 68: Many Partings I

**My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers of Chapter 67: _butterflyninja935,_ _CAH, LAHH, _and_ leralonde_.**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of _The Hobbit _and_ The Lord of the Rings_. The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as _The Silmarillion_.**

**Vocabulary**

**burzum—'darkness' (Black Speech)**

**Jötunn—'giant' (Norse; the 'J' pronounced like the 'y' at the beginning of 'yogurt')**

**mae govannen—'well met' (Sindarin)**

**Chapter 68: Many Partings I**

"I warn't gonna hurt you none," the troll said mournfully. "I were just gonna nick one o' them conies—what were more than what you 'uns could eat."

This latter statement was true. Lindir had shot and dressed two conies, but because the weather had been unusually warm, likely some of the meat would spoil if not eaten quickly. The elf, however, did not remove his knife from the throat of the troll.

"You crept into our camp under cover of darkness," he said accusingly.

"Course I did," said the troll. "Cain't come out in daytime, no how."

This, too, was true. The troll was of the old breed, not meddled with by either Sauron or Saruman. If he were caught out by the sun, he would turn to stone.

"An honest troll," Gandalf observed. He had arisen and taken a seat upon a log, where he was packing his pipe.

"A dangerous troll," Lindir returned.

"If he were dangerous, he would not have been stealing conies," Gandalf retorted. "This troll is much reduced in circumstances. Consider, Lindir: one cony is but a mouthful for a troll. Have you ever known a troll to bother himself over anything unless it were as large as a sheep?"

"They have been known to go after Hobbits," Lindir shot back.

"I rest my case," Gandalf said calmly.

Lindir hesitated and then withdrew his knife a little. "What do you propose we do with this troll, then?" he asked the wizard.

"Let him go."

"But, Gandalf, won't he steal from the folks hereabouts?"

"I believe he is the likelier to need protection from them than they from him. There are fewer and fewer places for a troll to hide, and now the wars are over the villagers are bolder. No, Lindir, when I say let him go, I mean he must wend his way elsewhere. He must trek north, where it is too cold for crops to grow and where, therefore, few people dwell."

"The Northern Waste?"

"No, even further north, where the nights are long nine months out of the year—a delightful state of affairs for a troll, I should imagine. You, fellow, what's your name?"

"Jötunn."

"Well, Jötunn, do you know which way is north?"

"T'other side of south."

"And which way is south?" Gandalf tried again patiently.

"T'other side of north," Jötunn returned doggedly.

By now Lindir had sheathed his knife, for it had become increasingly clear that the dim-witted troll was no threat.

"That one would get lost trying to follow his own nose," the Elf muttered. This was a saying that the elves often applied to the men that they encountered, but it seemed to suit this troll as well.

Gandalf eventually settled upon the strategy of tying a leather thong around Jötunn's left wrist. "Jötunn," the wizard explained, "each day when the sun sets, stand so that the wrist with the thong is pointing toward the spot where the sun has settled in for his night's rest. That way you shall be facing north. Walk in that direction until the sun rises again and you must betake yourself to shelter. Do this repeatedly, and at last you shall arrive in a land where few humans live. It is a land of snow and ice, yet some hardy animals dwell there. These shall provide excellent exercise for your teeth and jaws, for their flesh will be tough and stringy—perfect provender for a troll used to living rough. Now, it shan't be long until the sun wakes, so return to your cave for one last day's lodging."

Lindir presented Jötunn with one of the conies. The troll mumbled something that passed for thanks and scurried off into the darkness.

"Do you suppose he will survive the journey?" Lindir asked.

"If he fancied himself clever, he might make the mistake of trying to raid a homestead and so get into a pickle that way. But stupid as he is, he may very well succeed in plodding his way to safety."

It seemed that Gandalf was correct in his surmise, for in after years men dwelling far to the north reported encountering a creature somewhat mannish in shape but taller and hairier than most humans. Men called this creature "Yeti." Doubtless it was either Jötunn or one of his descendants, born of a coupling between Jötunn and some other troll that had made its way to the safety of the Far North.

But this was still far in the future. For now, elf and wizard considered and then abandoned the notion of returning to their rest for what little remained of the night. They set about breaking camp and soon were riding once more toward Bree, where they planned to spend the night at the Prancing Pony.

"This inn, it was the very one where Frodo and his companions first met Estel, was it not?" Lindir asked.

"Yes," Gandalf replied. "I had meant to meet Frodo there myself, but I was—detained."

The wizard grimaced a little at the memory of his ill-treatment at the hands of Saruman, whom he had considered a friend.

"Elrohir and Elladan say that excellent brews are to be had there," Lindir continued, politely pretending not to notice Gandalf's troubled expression, for he knew it pained the wizard to speak of Saruman's treachery.

"Yes, Elrond's sons have sampled the beverages served at the Prancing Pony and proclaimed them to meet their high standards," Gandalf said dryly.

Lindir grinned. It was well known that Elrohir and Elladan's standards were less exacting than those of most Elves. The twins had spent much time in the company of Rangers and had developed a taste for mannish beverages such as ale and stout.

"I recommend," Gandalf continued, "that you try the mead. The wine last time I visited was good, but the mead was excellent. Really, I don't think the Beornings could have furnished better."

The Beornings were celebrated for their mead, brewed from honey of an exceptional quality. This mead was renowned from Lindon in the west to Rhûn in the east, and from Harad in the south to the shores of the Icebay of Forochel in the north (the latter may have been an exaggeration, but so it was said). Lindir therefore looked skeptical at hearing the brew of Bree compared to the beverage of the Beornings.

"No, truly," insisted Gandalf. "The honey it was made from came from a colony descended from one of the hives tended by Goldberry. Hers are the equal of any kept by the Beornings, and the descendants of the founding hive have maintained its virtue."

Having sampled the honey from one of Goldberry's hives the previous morning, Lindir could not dispute its quality. He was willing to allow, then, that any mead brewed from honey made by its descendants might be worth sampling. He was about to smilingly say so when a slight sound caught his attention. "Gandalf," he said softly, "I reckon you might want to untie your staff from your saddlebag."

"Oh, I don't think so," Gandalf said calmly.

"Loosen your sword, then."

"I don't see the need for that."

Lindir took a firm grip on his bow while muttering something under his breath that sounded very much like "burzum." As he did so, a score of men swarmed from the forest and surrounded the travelers. Although the brigands were armed only with cudgels, Lindir could not take on such a number unaided. The elf gazed appealingly at Gandalf, but the wizard, unperturbed, looked about as if taking in the scenery. "Off them horses," demanded the chieftain of the band. Scowling at Gandalf, Lindir dismounted. The wizard, however, did not.

"You too, old man," ordered the brigand.

"As you say, I am an old man. Allow me to remain seated whilst you deal with my companion. I shan't try to ride off, I assure you. Here—take my sword if you doubt me."

With that, Gandalf handed over Glamdring unconcernedly. From the wizard's calm demeanor, one would never have guessed that the redoubtable sword, the Foe-hammer, had served him for four score years. The weapon had been his companion from the time he claimed it from a troll-hoard while in the company of Thorin Oakenshield, who himself took up the sword Orcrist, the Goblin-cleaver, which now lay on his chest in the tomb that was dwarf lord's resting place in the Lonely Mountain.

Lindir was horrified at how cavalierly Gandalf parted with the sword, but he had little time to reflect, for he was roughly stripped of all his possessions until nothing was left to him but his small clothes. By then he had gone from scowling at the wizard to glaring at him. Lindir knew that he would not have to go naked once they arrived at the Prancing Pony, for Gandalf's credit was good, and Barliman Butterbur, the good-natured proprietor, would scrounge breeches and a tunic for the unfortunate elf. Still, Lindir winced at the thought of making his way to the inn through the streets of Bree clad in little more than a loin clout. He looked up at the sun. Perhaps, he thought hopefully, they would enter Bree after dark. Yes, that likely would be the case. Doubtless the brigands meant to stead their horses, and a traveler on foot could hardly reach Bree before nightfall.

The brigands now turned their attention to Gandalf. "Off the horse now," they demanded. The wizard had lit his pipe while the brigands had been stripping Lindir of his clothes, and now, provokingly, the Istar sent a puff of smoke to hover over the head of the chieftain. "Highwayman though you be," he said insouciantly, "you would not be so discourteous as to interrupt my enjoyment of this most excellent weed. Surely not! Indeed, I must insist that you join me in my pastime."

Gandalf tossed a pouch toward the startled chieftain, who dropped Glamdring as he made a fumbling catch of the pipe weed. "Is it any good?" cried one of his Men. "Nothing but shite weed has come out of the Shire these many months."

The chieftain sniffed at the contents of the pouch. "Aye, it is good," he said. "Share!" clamored his men. "Share!"

The man holding Lindir's bow and quiver dropped them and joined the scrum around the chieftain. Lindir eyed the bow and took one cautious step toward it. Suddenly the chieftain shrieked and held up his hand. It was pierced by an arrow. The men rounded on Lindir, but he pointed at his bow, which still lay several feet from the elf. Simultaneously a second man screamed in pain and held up an injured hand. His fellows looked away from Lindir. When they turned back, he was holding his bow, arrow nocked. The men nearest the Elf fled into the forest. In quick succession, an arrow struck the hand of a third brigand, a throwing axe knocked the cudgel from the grip of another, and Gandalf, who had quietly taken hold of his staff while his foes were distracted, began laying about him. In short order, the erstwhile brigands, bruised and bewildered, had all fled back into the forest.

The chieftain had drawn the arrow from his hand and cast it aside, and Lindir picked up the discarded missile. After examining it, he ruefully held it up to Gandalf, who assumed a self-satisfied expression. "I won't say, 'I told you so'," the wizard proclaimed smugly.

Before Lindir had a chance to point out that the Istar _**had**_ said 'I told you so', Legolas stepped out from behind one tree and Gimli another. "Mae govannen, Lindir. Mae govannen, Gandalf," called the Greenwood elf. "Ah, Lindir, I see that you have found one of my arrows. I hope the others are hereabouts."

"Well met, indeed," Gandalf returned. "You come hard on the heels of Lindir," he added. "I reckon you weren't trapped long in that cave." As he spoke, the wizard shot a meaningful glance at Lindir, but the elf pretended not to notice and bent to pick up his clothes.

While Lindir dressed and recovered his scattered possessions and Gandalf's sword, Legolas and Gimli regaled the wizard with the tale of their escape from the cave.

"Well done, the both of you," laughed Gandalf. "You had no need for this old wizard. My work here is done."

Legolas had been smiling, but at these words he grew solemn. Gandalf noticed his change in demeanor. "I shan't vanish upon the instant," he said quickly. "I mean to return to Imladris first."

"Drat!" Gimli exclaimed disappointedly. "Then I have won the bet. Gandalf, are you sure you don't want to retrace your steps?"

"I thought it was customary for folk to rejoice at the winning of a bet," laughed Lindir. "Or is it otherwise amongst your people?"

"The penalty for losing would have been pleasanter than the prize for winning," Gimli grumbled.

"What was the prize?" asked Gandalf.

"Legolas agreed to accompany me to the Lonely Mountain," Gimli sighed.

"And the penalty for losing?"

Gimli brightened. "I would needs must accompany Legolas to Lothlórien," he crowed. Then he subsided once more into mournfulness. "But there is no relying on wizards," he complained. "You _**would**_ return to Rivendell."

"Yes," said Gandalf. "But I won't be going back to Lothlórien. Which means I shall need a messenger to carry—"

"Legolas wouldn't mind being sent," Gimli said quickly. "And I should be willing to accompany him," he added.

"I am glad to have messengers so willing," smiled Gandalf, "especially as the road is still dangerous. The environs of Breeland are as tame as any, yet even here ruffians still roam—witness our late encounter!"

"Oh, brigands," Gimli said dismissively. "Pshaw! What is a brigand to one who has dispatched as many Uruks as I have?"

Legolas grinned at his friend's good-natured blustering. Then he whistled for Arod, who within minutes appeared from the glade where he had been browsing. Legolas and Gimli meant to journey on to Hobbiton, as Elrond had advised, but first they would turn back and accompany Lindir and Gandalf to Bree. Soon all four travelers were mounted and riding confidently toward their destination. They were now a party too large to fear further danger—the brigands were cowardly, as such folks usually are, and were, moreover, poorly armed. Even if they had had the stomach to renew the attack, they would have been unable to prosecute it successfully.

A few hours later, the travelers entered Bree and made for the Prancing Pony. It was still daylight when they arrived, and the streets were bustling with both Bree-folk and "foreigners." Now that the War was over, traders were once again beginning to venture upon the Great East Road, and the Greenway, too. Traveling in caravans to discourage marauders, the bands of merchants filled the common rooms of the inns and occupied all the beds. But at the Prancing Pony, Gandalf's credit was indeed good. "I'll make shift," Butterbur promised, swabbing a handkerchief across his forehead before scurrying into a back room, calling for his servant Nob as he did so. "Would you mind the attic, masters?" he asked when he reappeared. "Bit dusty, but Nob can have it swept in a trice. Furniture stored up there, but push it to one side and we'll soon have space enough for you folks."

Having slept in worse places than attics, the travelers were agreeable. Legolas took out his purse. "No charge! no charge!" exclaimed Butterbur, waving aside the elf's offer of coin. "No one has ever paid for that chamber, so I'll not be the poorer."

The travelers waited in the common room while their chamber was set to rights. They were well entertained the while.

"My cousin was one o' them that came from furrin' parts to send them ruffians packin'," an elderly hobbit was proclaiming. His face wrinkled with the wisdom of years, he was surrounded by eager listeners, both Big Folk and Little. As he spoke, he banged an umbrella on the floor for emphasis. "My cousin—thump—sent—thump—them ruffians—thump—packin'—thump," he repeated proudly.

"Say on, Addled!" cried the crowd. For this was none other than Adelard Took, great-grandson of the Old Took and cousin to Peregrin Took (at what remove it would take a genealogist to fathom). At some point the name 'Adelard' had turned into 'Addled' for inexplicable reasons, for his wits were sharp and always had been.

"I hear he was wearing armor," one of the Big Folk said. "'Him and them other three."

"Aye, armor. An' a sword, too. Oh, he was a sight! Tall for a hobbit, he was, him an' his best mate. T'other two warn't no taller than usual. But all four of 'em was armed."

The ancient hobbit stopped and peered into his cup, as if surprised to find it empty. "Another beer for Addled," cried a dozen voices. Soon, his cup refreshed, Addled returned to his tale.

"My cousin—now, that would be Master Peregrin—he rode off for Tuckborough to gather folks thereabouts. For we Tooks," he added proudly, "was known for standin' up to them ruffians, so it was only nat'ral that we'd be thought off when a fight was in the offin'.

"I know Peregrin Took," objected one of the listeners, one of the Big Folk who had delivered barrels of beer to the Smials. "You must be mistaken about his height, for he was always short for a hobbit."

"Well, now he's tall for one," retorted Addled.

"Ne'er you mind that!" one of the listeners called out impatiently. "Tell on!"

"Yes, the battle! Tell us about the battle!" clamored the crowd.

Addled swallowed a gulp of beer.

"There was two battles," he said. "First there was a little battle. It was handled most cleverly," he continued. "Ruffians walked into a trap, they did. Mister Gamgee—"

"Mister who?" called a listener.

"Gamgee—Samwise Gamgee. One o' them four hobbits that wore armor."

"Sam Gamgee—ain't he a gardener?" called one of the listeners, evidently from Hobbiton.

"'He ain't no gardener now," returned Addled. "Least ways, he ain't unless you count harvestin' ruffians. He did uproot quite a few, I tell'ee."

This brought a shout of laughter and offers of more beer.

"After my cousin rode off to Tuckborough," Addled continued, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, "Mister Gamgee an' Master Meriadoc an' Farmer Cotton set folks to blockin' both ends of the road that goes through Bywater. When the ruffians come along, folk moved one barricade to let 'em in, but they didn't move t'other one. Just like that, them ruffians was trapped. Skirmish was over afore it started, one might say. One ruffian dead an' the rest of 'em captured. They give up after their leader was slain."

Addled took another gulp of beer.

"But the next battle warn't so easy," he went on, putting down his cup with a bang. "Ten score o' them ruffians marched on Bywater. The Tuckborough boys got there first, else it might have gone ill for Bywater. But it didn't. Fool ruffians walked into the trap all over again. They fought, an' we lost some good folk, Tuckborough lads among 'em, but people warn't goin' to take no more abuse from those ruffians. And that was pretty much the end of them bad folk."

"Only pretty much?" called a Hobbit. "Tell on!" shouted another. Clearly the audience was not ready for the story to end.

Addled looked pointedly at his beer cup, which was immediately refilled.

"The ruffians had a leader," he resumed, "but he warn't at the battle. He was holed up in Hobbiton."

"Lotho!" someone shouted. "Lotho Pimple."

Angry murmurs filled the inn. "Those Sackville-Bagginses was as bad as the ruffians," shouted a particularly well-fed hobbit.

Addled loudly banged his umbrella upon the floor. The room fell silent. "Don't you never forget 'twas Lobelia that stood up to them ruffians. Not many folk can say the same." He looked around the room sternly. Many hobbits, including the well-fed one, dropped their eyes when his gaze fell upon them.

"Howsomever," Addled continued, after allowing for an uncomfortable pause, "it warn't Lotho that was the leader. My pardon to the present company, but it was a man. Old fellow that the ruffians called Sharkey. Had a servant, Wormtongue, a nasty piece of work. Likely Lotho was dead months afore the uprising—stabbed in his bed by this Wormtongue."

Legolas glanced swiftly at Gandalf. Had he known that Saruman would come to the Shire?

"So it was Sharkey that our lads went to smoke out," Addled was continuing. "An' smoke him out they did, for that was nigh all he was at the end—smoke."

Addled drained his cup and made to push back his chair. A clamor arose. "You ain't explained how he turned into smoke!" protested a Man.

"More beer!" shouted another.

"I ain't thirsty," Addled demurred. "I _**am**_ hungry, though," he added hopefully.

Plates of bread and cheese and cold meat were pushed toward him. He settled himself back upon his chair, and the crowd waited patiently while he chewed his way through a considerable portion of their offerings.

"Well," he said at last, "our folk marched to Hobbiton. There they found Sharkey, who had taken over the Sackville-Bagginses' hole, seemingly. He was ordered out, him an' his creature. Sharkey tried to murder a hobbit afore he went, but for all he was so treacherous, he would have been shown safe to the border. No, it was his own servant that killed him. Sharkey kicked the wretched creature as they went, an' afore a body could stir, this Wormtongue had cut his master's throat. Maybe he did the world a good turn, ridding it of his master, but the blood of our lads was hotted up, an' they shot that Wormtongue afore anyone could say different."

"What of the smoke?" shouted someone.

"Now that is the queerest part of the story. Sharkey died just like a body would expect, what with his throat being cut an' all. But he warn't done vexing folk. I have the tale in particular from a cousin who made the march from Bywater to Hobbiton."

"Pippin?" called a Hobbit who was visiting from the Smials.

"No, not him. One of Isembold's great-grandsons. I disremember his name."

This drew knowing nods. Isembold Took, son of the Old Took, had left many descendants, so Addled's lapse of memory was understandable.

"What did this cousin tell you?" shouted someone from the back of the crowd.

"Why, that Sharkey mostly turned to smoke. A great cloud of it, that hovered o'er the heads of the Tuckborough and Bywater lads. Folk was made uneasy by it, for it warn't natural. By an' by, though, a breeze up an' blew it away. Warn't nothing left then but a shriveled old Man dressed in rags."

Legolas had continued to watch Gandalf. Many emotions had flitted across the face of the wizard as he had followed the old hobbit's account: sorrow that conflict had been visited upon the Shire that he loved; pride at the intrepid hobbits who, once roused, had bravely wrested their land from the clutches of 'Sharkey'; and grief at the fate that had befallen a once-great wizard who had, upon a time, been a trusted compatriot. Suddenly a keen look flashed over the Istar's face as a renewed clamor broke out among Addled's auditors.

"You ain't said nothing about t'other hobbit," one called

"What other hobbit?" Addled said.

"You said there was four that came from foreign parts," shouted another.

"Yes," a third chimed in. "Here you've told us about Mister Gamgee and Master Meriadoc and Master Peregrin. What about the fourth?"

Apparently the audience did not feel that Addled had done his duty by the tale, and they were not going to let him off until he finished it.

"Oh, I had forgot," Addled conceded. "Yes, there was a fourth—Mister Baggins, of Bag End upon a time."

Many voices clamored at once at this remarkable news.

"No!"

"Mad Baggins?"

"Who vanished—"

"With a flash—

"And a bang—"

"On his eleventy-first birthday!"

"No! no! no! That would be Bilbo Baggins. Bilbo had an heir, a lad he adopted."

"Frodo Baggins?"

"Aye, Frodo Baggins."

"Who vanished from Crickhollow?"

"The night those Black Riders rode down the guards at the North-gate?"

"Yes, yes," Addled said, nodding. "That very one."

"Whyn't you mention him before? Warn't he at the Battle of Bywater?"

Gandalf leaned forward and listened intently.

"Oh, yes, he was there. But he didn't fight none."

Someone—a man—snorted. "Coward," he said disgustedly.

Legolas opened his mouth to object to the Ring-bearer being called a coward, but Gandalf laid a hand on his arm to quiet him.

"Well, I don't know," Addled was saying thoughtfully. "He _**was**_ in the thick of things."

"But you said he didn't fight," someone objected. "How could he be in the thick of things if he didn't fight?"

"He rushed in an' stopped the hobbits from killin' the ruffians."

"That don't make no sense," shouted someone. "Warn't the hobbits _**supposed**_ to be killing the ruffians?"

"Well, yes—and no," Addled answered. "Come a point when it was plain the ruffians was defeated, but our young folk was so hotted up that they would've kept shooting their bows and swinging their scythes. But Mister Baggins, he stopped 'em."

"I suppose," someone said grudgingly, "that he warn't a coward. But he warn't very brave, neither."

"Well, now," Addled said, still thoughtful, "more than once those scythes come pretty near takin' off Mister Baggins' head. I reckon it must take considerable courage steppin' between a weapon and its target."

"Anyway," he added, fixing an unfriendly eye on the man who had first called Frodo a coward, "a body that warn't at a battle ain't fixed to sneer at a body that was."

His tale now at an end, Addled arose and shuffled from the room, accompanied by the thumping of his umbrella, which he leaned upon as if it were a cane. It should be mentioned, by the by, that this very umbrella had been left to him by Bilbo as one of the gifts distributed the day after Bilbo's dramatic departure from his eleventy-first birthday celebration. Its cloth had been much patched, but the framework was still sound, and it had become Addled's favorite umbrella, his companion come rain, come shine, serving him, as we have seen, in place of a staff. In a few months, when Addled passed on at the age of ninety-five, the umbrella would be laid in his coffin, a final request of the crotchety but stout-hearted hobbit.

As Addled shuffled off, Gandalf was smiling. "Our friends have done well—all of them have done well," he said.

"Will they all be equally honored for it, though?" Legolas said. "Frodo was left out of the story until the teller was reminded of his existence."

Gandalf looked unconcerned. "No, they will not receive equal recognition," he said nonchalantly.

"I do not understand why that should be so," Legolas asserted, nettled.

"You must allow, Legolas," Gandalf replied, "that Frodo's role is difficult to explain. Moreover, his deeds took place in foreign lands that are of no concern to hobbits."

"That is very unfair," complained Gimli.

Gandalf shrugged. "Frodo won't mind. Sam will, of course. He will be aggrieved to see that his master is slighted by those who should be grateful to him."

"I have heard it said that 'A prophet is not without honor save in his own country'," Lindir observed. "It seems this proverb may apply to ring-bearers as well."

Gandalf shrugged again. "Someday," he said, "the tale of Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of Doom will be known throughout Middle-earth. For now, though, Frodo will have to be merely satisfied with the fact that he has helped saved the world."

Legolas smiled. He had no doubt that the hobbit would indeed be satisfied with knowing that he had played a role in the destruction of the Ring, and he would protest at having his actions bruited about. Frodo, like his uncle Bilbo, was unassuming and eschewed praise.

Just then Butterbur bustled into the room, breathless as usual. "Your chamber is ready, masters. Will you be eating in the common room, or shall I have Nob carry up a tray?"

Gimli being outvoted, the party chose the quieter location, and the travelers were soon comfortably ensconced in the attic, which, save for the number of steps separating them from the privy, would have served them as well as any room in the inn. True, it lacked a fireplace, but as the weather continued warm, they were not likely to regret its absence. As for the distance from the privy, Nob pointed out a close stool discretely tucked into a corner behind a wardrobe. This was an improvement from the chamber pots that the travelers had expected to use, and they pronounced themselves satisfied with the arrangements for the 'necessary'.

They were pleased with the other furniture as well. The old-fashioned table, chairs, and bedsteads were in very good repair, having been banished from the rooms below simply because they were of an antique style and for no other reason. The mattresses, pillows, and duvets, however, were quite new, having been removed at Butterbur's order from his own bed and those of servants and family members. The attic extended the length and breadth of the house, so it was a very large chamber. By pushing aside furniture and piling up baskets and chests, Nob had cleared enough space to set up four bedsteads, so the travelers would enjoy the unaccustomed luxury of sleeping one to a bed. This was not altogether to the liking of Legolas and Gimli, however, so those two pushed their beds together until they touched. Gandalf smiled knowingly but said nothing.

After showing them to their chamber, Nob hurried downstairs and quickly returned with a tray laden with food. Behind him came Bob, his fellow servant, balancing cups and bottles on a second tray. There was salted pork and beer for Gimli, mead and cold beef for Gandalf, Lindir, and Legolas, and cheese and bread for all. There was also a meat pasty and an apple tart. For some time there was little conversation as the travelers gave their full attention to their victuals.

"Well," Gandalf said at last, pushing back from the table, "there is now no dearth of food in Bree." Indeed, as soon as Saruman's grip on the Shire had been broken, foodstuffs began to be traded freely both within and without its border.

"No shortage of beer, neither," Gimli mumbled as he raised his cup to wash down the last of the apple tart.

When Nob returned to clear away the dishes, he brought with him a pouch of tobacco, 'with the compliments of my master'. Out of deference to the elves, Gimli and Gandalf went downstairs to smoke in the common room.

"What will you do, Legolas?" Lindir asked when their two friends were gone.

"What will I do?" repeated Legolas.

"You needn't pretend that you do not understand me!" Lindir returned. "Elrond and his sons are departing. I go with him, as do all others of his household. Of Elrond's kin, only Arwen will remain in Middle-earth. Galadriel and the folk of Lothlórien will depart as well. You know what Gandalf's 'message' to her will portend. I have heard that your father and his people also will leave these lands. So I say again, Legolas, what will you do?"

"I remain," Legolas said simply.

"On account of Gimli?"

"Yes."

"He is mortal. After he dies, you will be left with no one."

"Better to be left with no one than with the shame of having abandoned one so loving and loyal."

"Gimli can return to his own folk. He will find family and friends amongst them."

Legolas shook his head. "No, Gimli will die alone unless I remain."

"I do not understand. There are other dwarves."

"There are now, but soon there will be none."

"How do you know this to be so?"

"Something Gandalf said. In Middle-earth, dwarves—like elves—will live on only in the memory of men."

"Elves will live on only in memory save for one elf who will still wander these lands," Lindir said, smiling a little sadly. "I honor you for your choice."

Legolas colored a little. "I have no choice; it is something I must do"

"Oh, you do have choice—which is why I honor you. You speak of Gimli's love and loyalty. It is your own love and loyalty that makes you cleave unto him so steadfastly that it appears to you that you have no choice."

"To do otherwise seems unthinkable," Legolas said.

"Yet we are having this conversation," Lindir smiled, "which would not be possible if either choice were 'unthinkable'. No, my friend. You know that you need not remain with Gimli, and there are powerful inducements for you to leave Middle-earth: your father, those who fostered and mentored you, the playmates of your youth, who became your companions-in-arms. Yet in your greatness of heart, you will not abandon your friend."

Legolas was scarlet by now, for he was not accustomed to being lauded so extravagantly. Lindir laughed. "Your modesty also proves you to be virtuous. You do not make your choice in order to win praise." Lindir suddenly sobered. "Indeed," he said solemnly. No one will remain to praise you."

The two sat silently for a time until they heard the stomp of Gimli's feet on the stairs. Legolas leaped to his feet and began rummaging in his pack. Gandalf and Gimli entered the room. The wizard looked keenly at Legolas, who was taking items out of his pack and randomly replacing them. "My lad," the Istar said, "I want you to take a gander at my horse. I should not like him to have a stone in his hoof."

Legolas silently accompanied Gandalf to the stable. When they reached it, Legolas swiftly examined Shadowfax's limbs. "There is nothing wrong with his hooves," he said, straightening up and looking at Gandalf wryly.

"I wanted to see whether he would permit you to handle him. Legolas, I cannot return Shadowfax to Edoras, for he will no longer suffer himself to be ridden by any man. Indeed, he would have kicked those poor brigands to pieces if they had they actually laid a hand on him! Not even Éomer could control this horse."

"You yourself do not 'control' Shadowfax," Legolas observed.

"True. I do not command him. Rather, he accedes to my wishes. He will accede to your wishes as well, I think."

"You mean to give me your horse, then?"

"Shadowfax is not mine to give. I ask, though, that from time to time you stop upon the Plains of Rohan and have a word with him, lest he feel abandoned."

'And who', Legolas thought, 'will stop from time to time and have a word with me?' He did not like this unaccustomed feeling of self-pity, and he quickly shook himself free of it. "I shall be glad to visit with Shadowfax, Gandalf," he said aloud.

"Thank you, Legolas. Ride him as well, as he has become used to being ridden—without saddle or bridle."

Legolas promised he would do as his friend requested.

"May I also ask," Gandalf continued, "that you see to the raising of a mound over him when he passes on? I do not like to think of him lying exposed as carrion for foxes and crows."

Legolas promised that Shadowfax would be tended to in death as well as life. "You are leaving very soon, aren't you, Gandalf?" he said, his melancholy returning.

"Yes," the wizard said, smiling a little sadly and stroking Shadowfax's muzzle. "As you see, I have been making my farewells. I have spoken the last with Tom Bombadil and Goldberry, and I have made certain that Shadowfax will not be forgotten. Now I return to Rivendell to prepare Bilbo for the journey to come."

Legolas, feeling very much the elfling, rubbed his sleeve across his eyes.

"I will not say do not weep, Legolas," Gandalf said softly, "for not all tears are an evil." He clasped the young elf by the shoulders and looked him up and down. "How you vexed me when you were little," he laughed, his mood suddenly altering. "You have made me swear 'confound it'—and worse!—on numerous occasions, but I have no cause to complain. No, indeed, for you have repaid my love and trust many times over. But I always knew you should. Yes, from the moment I took you up when I found you lost outside Imladris, I knew you should give me joy."

"If you are trying to cheer me up," Legolas said dryly, "you are not doing a very good job. Should you not be trying to break the bond between us rather than reminding me of how our lives have been intertwined?"

"Break the bond between us? Why ever should I do that?"

"So that we miss each other the less."

"But I do not wish to miss you the less!" exclaimed Gandalf. "I want to think of you every day. Yes, think of you every day, and laugh as I do."

The young Elf was smiling now, for he could not withstand the Istar's enthusiasm. "I suppose the memories are worth something," he conceded.

"Worth something! How coolly you speak. For why do we live if not to create memories? Banish memories and what have you? Only the one instant of time that is the present, for the future does not yet exist and in fact never _**can**_ exist, for as soon as the future materializes, it is the present, which itself immediately becomes the past."

"I believe," Legolas said sardonically, "you have just proved that neither the future _**nor**_ the present can exist. For the former immediately becomes the present and the latter immediately becomes the past."

"And if I have," Gandalf returned promptly, "my case for valuing the past is all the stronger, it having no rival. But you mistake me, my lad. The future is only the prospect of things to come and is no thing in and of itself. That events do take place does prove, however, that there must be a present. Else nothing would ever happen, and that is demonstrably false. Do you follow me so far, my lad?"

Legolas nodded, smiling in amusement at the tendentious turn the conversation had taken.

"But even though there _**is**_ a present," Gandalf continued, "the past is far greater in extent than the present, for all events are encompassed by the past, and it is being added to all the time. Moreover, the past can shape the present, but the present has not the power to alter the past."

"One's memories of the past can alter," Legolas pointed out.

"Yes, yes," Gandalf said briskly. "But the actual events, once they have taken place, are immutable. So look to the past, my lad. Always remember that the present is inconceivable without the past that gave rise to it."

"This conversation," Legolas remarked slyly, "has traveled a very far distance on the horse's hooves that gave it impetus."

"Of course," said the wizard, unflappable. "Shadowfax is an extraordinary steed. A discussion of any portion of his anatomy needs must be portentous."

Legolas laughed, and Gandalf, pleased at having jollied the elf out of his melancholy, joined in. Legolas offered Shadowfax an apple, the stallion graciously accepted, and Gandalf and Legolas then returned to their chamber, where they found Gimli sound asleep but Lindir lying unhappily awake. "How can you endure that racket?" moaned Lindir.

"Racket? I don't hear any racket," Legolas said innocently.

"That _**snoring**_," exclaimed Lindir, frustrated.

"Snoring? You are mistaken, Lindir. I hear no snoring. Rather, I hear a lullaby!"

With that, Legolas stretched out upon his bed, his head mere inches from the source of the noise that Lindir found so offensive, and within minutes he was asleep. Gandalf, too, was soon asleep, adding his own snoring to the cacophony.

As for Lindir, he lay awake for some time longer. At last he arose and, taking a blanket, wended his way to the stable, where he made a bed in the hayloft. His accommodations, if more rustic than those in the attic, were at least quieter.

And in their respective chambers, let our four travelers lie until morning.


	69. Chapter 69: Past Regained Future Lost

**My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers of Chapter 68: **_**butterflyninja935,**__**CAH,**__**Enna Namo**_**,**_** L.A.H.H., leralonde**_**, **_**Xelfi4ever**_**, and **_**ziggy3.**_** Thanks also to **_**Almecestris**_** for reviews of earlier chapters.**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit **_**and**_** The Lord of the Rings**_**. The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as **_**The Silmarillion**_**.**

**Chapter 69: Past Regained; Future Lost**

"You got a toothache, lad?" Gimli asked.

Legolas shook his head.

"Whyn't you eat faster, then?"

"I do not bolt my food," Legolas said with dignity. "I chew each mouthful with great care."

"Lad, that there is porridge. It don't require chewing."

Legolas sighed and put down his spoon.

"Oh, very well, Gimli. I am not hungry."

Gimli looked at him keenly. "And what accounts for your lack of appetite? Thought you elves didn't get sick."

Legolas picked up his spoon and stirred his porridge absent-mindedly.

"I reckon I know what ails you," the dwarf said.

No answer from the elf, who continued stirring his porridge.

"Not eager to part ways with Gandalf, I'll wager," the dwarf speculated.

Legolas again sighed and put down his spoon. "No, Gimli, I am not."

"You will see him once more. He will be at Rivendell when we return from Hobbiton."

"Aye, you speak the truth," Legolas said sadly. "I will see him _**once **_more. Then he will depart into the West."

Gimli sat quietly for a time. At last he cleared his throat. "_**You **_could depart into the West."

Legolas shook his head. "I have no desire to depart into the West."

"Yes you do. You have just now said that you are sad that Gandalf is leaving. You don't want to be parted from him."

"True, I do not wish to be parted from him. But I do not want to leave these lands."

"That don't make no sense. Either you want to be with him, or you don't want to be with him."

"Wishing to be with him is _**not**_ the same as wanting to depart into the West."

Gimli sat quietly for a little while. Then he again cleared his throat. "Is there anything that could make you _**want**_ to leave these lands?"

"Nothing," Legolas said decidedly.

"What if I was to say that _**I**_want you to go?"

"Do you wish me to go, Gimli?" asked Legolas, surprised.

"Aye, lad, I do."

"Why?" said Legolas, stunned.

"I don't want you unhappy," Gimli replied simply.

"You are a true friend," Legolas said. "And therefore," he added slyly, "all the more I cannot bear to be parted from you."

"Marched straight into that one," Gimli muttered ruefully. Again he cleared his throat. "What if I was to tell you I no longer wanted your company?" he tried.

"I have never met a dwarf who could lie," Legolas returned.

"Then you have not met many dwarves," Gimli shot back.

"I have never met a dwarf who could lie _**successfully**_," Legolas amended. "It takes an elf to lie successfully," he added.

Gimli sat silently for a few minutes trying to work out whether or not Legolas's words gave the dwarves credit or denied it to them. Legolas smiled at his perplexed expression.

"Gimli, dwarves are plain speakers; ergo, they are at a disadvantage when called upon to dissemble. As you are so fond of pointing out, however, elves are word weaselers. While we never lie outright, we prevaricate via indirection. But you, my friend, are nothing if not direct!"

"So," grumbled Gimli, "I have a skill that, while praiseworthy, leaves me at a disadvantage. Is that the long and the short of it?"

Legolas grinned. "As I said, Gimli, you are nothing if not direct."

"So we are right where we started," sighed the dwarf. "_**I**_ want you to leave Middle-earth, and _**you**_ won't go!"

"And the more you want me to go, the less I will be inclined to do so," laughed the Elf. "But observe, Gimli. Your goal was that I should be happy, and in that you have succeeded."

Gimli brightened. "Why, that is true! You are smiling!"

Frodo found the two friends cheerfully downing their breakfast when he came in from the garden. Legolas, having regained his appetite, was polishing off the porridge, and Gimli, having never lost his in the first place, was alternating bites of bread with forkfuls of ham.

"Well," said Frodo, putting down his basket on a side board, "I am glad there are still plenty of potatoes to be dug up. It takes a lot of provender to feed an elf and a dwarf, seemingly."

"Hey," came an aggrieved voice, "who let the hogs root in the garden?"

"No one, Sam," Frodo called. "I dug up a few potatoes, is all."

Sam appeared in the door way, trowel in hand, an indignant expression on his face. "I wouldn't credit what you did as 'digging'," he chided. "Next time you want potatoes, you tell me. After all, _**I'm**_ the gardener. You ask Faramir if I'm not!"

Frodo laughed. "When we were captured by Faramir's men in Ithilien," he explained, "Faramir gestured to Sam and said, 'Your bodyguard?' Sam looked at Faramir disdainfully. 'His gardener', he retorted haughtily."

Legolas smiled, and Gimli chuckled. They could well imagine Sam's indignation at being called a bodyguard rather than a gardener. To Sam, there could be no higher calling than tending to his roots and vegetables.

"How is Rosie this morning, Sam?" Frodo asked, gesturing for Sam to take a seat.

"Can't stop," said Sam, brandishing the trowel. "Rosie has a great hankering for truffles and pickles this morning. We've got a barrel of pickles in the pantry, but I've got to dig around an oak or two and see if I can find some truffles."

"Truffles and pickles?" Legolas said, taken aback. "Is that what Rosie usually eats for breakfast?"

Sam blushed and studied the trowel as if he had noticed a crack in its handle.

"Rosie craves unusual foods at this time," Frodo explained. "It won't last," he added.

"Oh ho!" exclaimed Gimli. "I have heard of this condition. Sam will soon be raising something other than vegetables!"

Sam muttered something about planting seeds and backed out of the room, turning as he reached the door and dashing out. Frodo smiled. "There hasn't been a child in Bag End since Bilbo brought me to live here after I was orphaned," he said happily. Then he grew thoughtful. "I am so grateful that Sam is to be a father," he murmured, "for I recall what he said as we huddled on an outcrop, surrounded by fumes, waiting to die."

The hobbit fell silent, remembering those moments when it had seemed that it was the end of all things as Mount Doom erupted after the destruction of the Ring. "What did Sam say?" Legolas prompted him gently.

Frodo roused himself. "It wasn't just what he said then," he said slowly. "I need to go back a little further—only a little further. As our quest drew toward its end," he remembered, "I knew how it must have been like for Gollum—no friends, no pleasant memories, no pleasant sensations, nothing filling his mind but the lidless, burning eye. As we toiled up the mountain, Sam asked me whether I remembered the Shire. It would be Spring soon, he said, and the orchards would be in blossom. And the birds would be nesting in the hazel thickets, and our friends and neighbors would be sowing the summer barley in the lower fields and eating the first of the strawberries and cream. Did I remember the taste of strawberries, Sam asked."

Frodo fell silent again. "Go on," Legolas urged him.

"I couldn't recall any of those things," Frodo said, tears coming to his eyes. "I couldn't recall the taste of food nor the sound of water or the touch of grass. I was naked in the dark. There was—there was nothing, no veil between me and the wheel of fire." His breath hitched. "I could see him with my waking eyes!"

"I had become Gollum," Frodo resumed, after sitting silently for several more minutes while his friends waited patiently. "When he and I struggled for the Ring at the brink of the chasm within Mount Doom, I might as well have been struggling with myself. Gollum was a part of me made visible."

"I think, though," Legolas said, "that you had won that struggle earlier."

Frodo nodded. "Yes. Gandalf said as much. He said that the Ring's destruction was assured when I spared Gollum's life—as Bilbo had done before me."

"Aye," said Gimli abruptly. "The goodness within you was uppermost."

"I did not know it at the time, but it seems it was," Frodo agreed. "And so Gollum was spared to be the instrument of the Ring's destruction. Too far gone himself to ever recover, he took the Ring with him into the abyss. And then I found that deep within me a part of the old Frodo remained. I reemerged. Suddenly I could see the Shire. The Brandywine River. Bag End. Gandalf's fireworks. The lights on the party tree. I could find them in my mind. I believed I never again should see them in the flesh, though. I never thought I should return to the Shire."

"And Sam?" Legolas prompted after Frodo had again sat silently for a while.

"Yes, Sam. I began to tell you about Sam. Early on, it was plain to me that there would be no return from our Quest. I would perish with the Ring. But Sam, bless him, had held on to hope much longer than I. Several days after we had parted from Faramir in Ithilien, we had slept the night in a culvert. That morning Gollum was urging us on, telling us that we must hurry, but Sam insisted I should eat first. Consumed with the desire to accomplish my quest, I was eager to keep up my strength, and I gratefully accepted the lembas wafer that Sam drew from his pack. Then I noticed that Sam was eating nothing. 'I'm not hungry', he swore, 'leastways not for lembas bread'. I gave him a doubtful look, and he confessed the real reason he was scanting himself. 'We don't have that much left', he warned. 'We have to be careful or we are going to run out'. He urged me to go ahead and eat what he had given me, though. 'I've rationed it', he said, 'there should be enough'. For what? I asked him. 'The journey home', he said. My heart clenched to hear him say that. I was luring him to his death, and either he didn't know it or he wouldn't believe it."

"Even if he had known it," Legolas observed, "he would have stayed with you."

"Yes," Frodo agreed. "Sam chose to go with me when I fled Parth Galen. He did so even though he knew the journey would be perilous, and I grasped at that knowledge whenever guilt began to claw at me. And then the day came when I knew how fully he understood where his choice was leading. For some days we had gone without food, but we still had water. Now we were running out of water, too. My skin was nearly empty, and I upended it to allow the last drops to trickle into my mouth. That tiny trickle did nothing to quiet my fierce thirst, and I cast away the skin in my frustration. Sam proffered his. 'Take mine', he encouraged. 'There's a few drops left'. Greedily, I seized it and swallowed all that it contained. Then I looked at Sam, as thirsty as ever I was, and felt ashamed. There will be none left for the return journey, I said guiltily.

"Sam looked back at me. 'I don't think there will be a return journey, Mr. Frodo', he said softly. In his face, I saw in a flash that he had known for some time that the doom that awaited at Mount Orodruin was our own."

"Brave," Gimli muttered, rubbing at an eye. "As brave as any warrior," he said more loudly, quickly recovering from whatever ailed his eye. "For a warrior," he continued, "has the means to fight for his life, but Sam had no means to preserve his. No, nor you neither, Frodo. Brave, the both of you."

"Brave I may have been," Frodo replied, "but Sam was braver. I did not know how brave until the Ring had been destroyed. We sat huddled on that outcrop, surrounded by fumes, waiting to die. Yet I was calm—glad even—for my memories of the Shire had been restored to me, even if for only those few minutes that remained before we should become detritus on the slopes of Mount Doom. But as I was marveling at the past that I had regained, I realized that Sam was grieving the future he should never have. 'Rosie Cotton dancing', he murmured, tears in his eyes. 'She had ribbons in her hair', he went on. By now he was crying outright. 'If ever I was to marry someone', he sobbed, 'it would have been her. It would've been her', he cried again.

"Sam had known that by following me he was forfeiting any hope that he would ever be a husband, ever be a father, ever again hold in his hand the rich mould of the garden that had been tended by his father and his father's father before him. Yet he had never reproached me—and he had never considered turning back, no, not even when I gave him reason to do so through unkind words and dismissive gestures. Toward the end I had been consumed by the Ring, with no thought for anything save my own suffering, but Sam bore all patiently, all the while believing that step by step he was abandoning his future. My friends, if you want to know the hero of the tale, look not to me but to Sam!"

Gimli was now rubbing at his other eye. "A remarkable tale of two friends," he muttered. "Reckon that one will never be matched."

Frodo caught Legolas's eye and gave him a meaningful look. Then the hobbit resumed his story. "But now, against all hope, Sam enjoys that which he willingly relinquished—a peaceful life shared with those he loves."

"As is only just," pronounced Gimli, his voice unusually gruff even for him. Then the dwarf cleared his throat and seemed to recover. He picked up his pipe. "Don't have much use for gardens," he declared, "but I notice in yours a fine bench in a spot what would be just right for blowing smoke rings into that bit of a dell down yonder."

"Gimli is right," Frodo said after Gimli had gone. "It has been a remarkable tale of two friends. But regardless of what Gimli says, I reckon it _**has**_ been matched."

"Before your tale is at an end, friends will be parted," Legolas pointed out. "Does Sam know that part of the story?"

Frodo shook his head. "Not yet. I don't know how to break it to him. And Gimli—what have you told Gimli?"

"That I am not leaving."

Frodo looked startled and then downcast. "I wish I could be as loyal," he said sadly.

"Do not reproach yourself because your path must be different from mine," Legolas said swiftly, "for my situation is not the same as yours." Frodo opened his mouth to demur, but Legolas raised a hand to stay him. "After the destruction of the Ring," the elf continued, "you regained your past, but only Sam was granted a future. Sam was willing to sacrifice all hope, but in the end only you have been called upon to make that sacrifice."

Frodo arose and went to the window that overlooked the garden where Gimli sat entertaining himself with smoke rings. The hobbit smiled wistfully, for the dwarf's pastime reminded him of the days before he possessed the Ring—or, rather, before the Ring possessed him.

"Your injuries will never allow you to remain contentedly in Middle-earth," Legolas continued gently. "I think you knew this even in Rivendell, whilst you lay marshaling your strength after the attack at Weathertop. Gandalf knew it, too. Before the Council had gathered, he told Elrond that your wound would never fully heal—that you would carry it for the rest of your life."

"Yes," admitted Frodo. "I did suspect as much. I suppose, deep down, that this knowledge explains why I volunteered to carry the Ring to Mordor." He laughed a little embarrassedly. "I don't want to make myself out to be a hero," he said, "but, well, are you familiar with the phrase, 'in for a penny, in for a pound'?"

"I have heard it spoken in Rohan," Legolas replied.

"I remember what Bilbo used to say," Frodo mused. "'It's a dangerous business, Frodo', he would proclaim, 'going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to'. Bilbo's saying came true for me. Once I set foot on the path to Crickhollow, it was certain that I was going to end up in Mordor. I'm convinced of that, Legolas."

"I believe you are right," agreed the elf. "From the beginning it was your Quest. Alas! All the grief belongs to you as well."

"Not all," said Frodo. "I saw your face when you thought Gandalf had fallen to his doom in Moria."

"Gandalf was restored to me," Legolas answered.

"For a little while," the hobbit pointed out. "You are going to lose him all over again—and I reckon it won't be any less painful the second time around."

Legolas nodded soberly. No, he said to himself, it wouldn't be less painful. But at least Middle-earth would remain to him—and, for a time, Gimli.

Suddenly eager for the smell of pipe weed, Legolas arose from the table and excused himself to hurry to the garden. There, glad of an audience, Gimli happily blew his smoke rings, and Legolas, equally happily, assured him that within the rings he saw horses and bears and oliphaunts. 'No One Ring for me', the elf laughed himself. 'Rather a multitude of rings-and Arda within each one'.

That night, Legolas had an appetite to rival Gimli's own, and the dwarf never again wondered whether his friend was suffering from a toothache.


	70. Chapter 70: In Search of Refuge

**I haven't posted in ages, and I am omitting the usual acknowledgments of reviewers in order to get this chapter out post haste. I hope to upload the next chapter more quickly than I did this one and will catch up on thanking reviewers at that time.**

**My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit **_**and**_** The Lord of the Rings**_**. The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as **_**The Silmarillion**_**.**

**Chapter 70: In Search of Refuge**

Legolas and Frodo sat silently together in the garden. The hobbit's pipe dangled unlit from his hand.

"I shouldn't mind if you smoked," Legolas said after several minutes.

Frodo shook his head. "Pipe weed does not give me as much pleasure as formerly," he said quietly. "Although," he added, "I should like to share one last bowl with Gandalf and with Bilbo."

"And so you shall," Legolas assured him.

"You are certain?"

"Yes," Legolas said decidedly. "Gandalf is making his farewells to Middle-earth and its inhabitants. When he has finished, he will return to Rivendell, collect Bilbo, and bring him to Hobbiton. You may sit in the garden where we are now and send smoke rings chasing about the rose bushes."

"For a little while," Frodo said, his voice even softer than before.

The two friends again sat silently for a time. At last Frodo slipped his pipe into its pouch and arose. "Like Gandalf, I have farewells to make. I should like to look upon my favorite dells and dip my feet into the rills in which I waded in my youth. I mean to make a week of it. Would you and Gimli like to accompany me?"

"I shall join you. Gimli, though, has ingratiated himself with the blacksmith, and I do not think he can be spared from the forge. At any rate, you know his opinion of rambling for the purpose of enjoying the landscape."

Frodo laughed. "True! Very well. We shall leave Gimli to the care of Sam and Rosie."

The two friends set about packing enough food for the week. Legolas could have kept them furnished with small game, but Frodo asked him to leave his bow behind.

"During my last ramble through the Shire, I do not wish to see any creature slain," he said to Legolas.

Frodo's reluctance to see a creature harmed extended to farm animals. Although the hobbit's table was furnished with bacon and ham and beef and chicken, Legolas had been struck by the fact that he never saw Frodo partake of any of these dishes. The hobbit ate bread, cheese, and fruit; and Rosie would prepare stewed meats for Sam, Legolas, and Gimli but vegetable pottages for Frodo. Suddenly Legolas wondered what his kinsmen dined upon in Valinor. Were the elves who had departed Middle-earth for the Undying Lands even now killing and dressing animals, or did they live upon fruits plucked from tree and vine? Or perhaps they sustained themselves like the children of Beorn, who, satisfied with bread and honey and clotted cream, slew nothing unless it were to defend themselves from danger.

The next morning elf and hobbit arose early, Legolas slipping quietly from the bedchamber he shared with Gimli so as not to disturb the dwarf—'although', the elf thought wryly to himself' 'Gimli's snoring makes it unlikely that he hear any noise I might make'.

In the vestibule their packs awaited them. They shouldered them and departed at once, for they intended to break fast out of doors. Frodo led his friend to a field where a great tree had once stood. They seated themselves upon its stump.

"We called it the Party Tree," Frodo explained to the elf as they unbuckled their packs. "The pavilion in which Bilbo and I celebrated our last birthday together was pitched about its base," continued the hobbit. "Saruman ordered it hewn down out of sheer spite, for his minions left it to rot. I could have born it the better had it been turned to lumber and been used to repair hobbit dwellings. Even had it been used for firewood, I should have grieved the less."

Not for the first time, Legolas wondered why Saruman had turned to evil while Gandalf, his compatriot, had remained steadfast in his devotion to Middle-earth. How had the two Maiar differed? Saruman had possessed great gifts, but so had Gandalf. What had caused Saruman to turn those gifts against the folk whom he had been sent to serve? 'He was ambitious', Legolas said to himself, 'but that is not the answer. For _**why**_ was he ambitious? Some part of him there was that Gandalf did not share. Either that or Saruman lacked some quality that would have kept ambition in check'.

Legolas had heard the story from Frodo of how the hobbit had offered Gandalf the Ring. "He refused it," Frodo had said, shaking his head in wonderment. "Indeed, Gandalf chided me for tempting him! This ring—sought after by both Sauron and Saruman—Gandalf could have reached out and taken it from my palm! He could have been the Lord of the Rings—master of Elves, Men, and Dwarves!"

Legolas wondered whether it had been a struggle for Gandalf to reject the proffered Ring. 'If he did struggle', he decided, 'it was only because he was tempted by the thought that with the Ring he might do good—I do not believe for a moment that he wanted it for himself'.

"Where are you, Legolas?" Frodo said, breaking into the elf's reverie.

"In Wonderland," Legolas replied.

"Wonderland? 'Tis an enchanted place—and therefore both enticing and dangerous."

"You have spent much time in that land?"

"Lately more time there than in the Shire. I wander its highways and byways, peering in at the windows of the hamlet of Whatif and looking over the hedgerows of the village of Ifonly."

"Would you dwell forever in that land?"

Frodo shook his head. "I would not. I hope that life in Valinor will be sufficiently diverting so that I do not forever live in the past that might have been—for it is even less substantial than the past that was."

"I think you shall spend many happy hours in the company of the Wise, for you will match them adage for adage," Legolas said, smiling respectfully. Most hobbits, he thought to himself, were not as philosophical as this one. Save for that brief period when Saruman had enslaved them, the hobbits had lived carefree lives, but also lives free from speculation about events beyond the borders of their little land. Kith, kin, and kine—these had preoccupied the Shirefolk, a little people unconcerned with anything beyond the aphid infestations in their gardens. But Frodo, lessoned by his uncle Bilbo, had always been conscious of a world greater than the Shire and had possessed an interest in its inhabitants even before he had set out on his quest. 'This must be why the Ring was destined to be his charge', the elf reasoned to himself. 'Like most of his race, he was not avaricious, but in him that virtue was combined with empathy for all folk and not only those of his own little land. That made him willing to take on the task when others in Hobbiton might have said "What has this matter to do with me and mine?"'

Frodo cleared his throat. "Still in Wonderland," he said smilingly. Legolas laughed. "Aye, but like you I expect that I shall be kept from dwelling excessively long in that place. You shall be diverted by the denizens of Valinor; I shall be diverted by Gimli."

"Yet he will die, as will all his kin," Frodo said gently. "Then what is to keep you from being trapped forever in the past?"

Legolas paused. When Gimli died, would the elf dwell only in his memories, the very fate that Frodo wished to escape? Legolas looked about him. In the distance a hillside gleamed with yellow furze. Nearer he could see the blue of cornflowers, and his sharp eyes picked out the humming bees that diligently harvested their pollen. Nearer still he heard the rustle that betrayed the presence of a mouse, and above, a small speck against fleecy clouds, a hawk keened, his own sharp eyes alert for the slight movement in the grass that would betray the tiny mammal. Legolas put his hand down on the soft patch of moss at the base of the felled Party Tree. He stroked the moss carefully and inhaled the mustiness of the damp soil that allowed the moss to flourish. Near the moss a tiny mushroom poked its head through the skeleton of a leaf fallen from the once mighty tree. Legolas pinched the stem of the mushroom between thumb and forefinger and gently uprooted it. He nibbled at it thoughtfully.

Frodo had been watching the elf intently. The Hobbit smiled. "Middle-earth," he murmured. "You are thinking that you will still have Middle-earth."

Legolas nodded, but he did not smile. How unfair it was that the consolation of Middle-earth was to be denied Frodo, who had suffered so much while preserving it for others!

"Do not fret on my account," said the hobbit, again reading the elf's mind. "Whatever I face, at least it will be in company with Bilbo and Gandalf." Legolas nodded again, but he was still troubled on Frodo's behalf.

Their meal at an end, the two friends arose. Shouldering their packs, they commenced their journey, intending to head east. "I shall be traveling west soon enough," Frodo declared. "Before then, I have in mind to visit the cottage at Crickhollow. I still own it, you know, even though I slept there only the one time before leaving poor Fredegar Bolger on his lonesome to face the terror of the Black Riders."

Legolas nodded. He had heard the story of how Fredegar, who thought he had been given an easy task, had had to run for his life out the back of the cottage as the Ringwraiths had burst through the front door in search of Frodo, whom the stout hobbit had been counterfeiting.

"I have given Merry and Pippin keys," Frodo continued, "and they have been using the place as a refuge when life at Brandy Hall and the Great Smials grows too riotous even for them. And a refuge is just what I want for a few days. Although Sam and Rosie are dear to me, sometimes they fuss over me until I am distracted—leastways Sam does."

Legolas laughed. Sam was almost maternal in his solicitous care of his master.

"Besides," Frodo went on, "Crickhollow is close to the Old Forest. I should like to visit that place one last time. Perhaps we shall encounter Tom Bombadil and his Goldberry."

Frodo set a path that skirted neighboring dwellings. While no one it Hobbiton would mock him to his face, he knew that, in the eyes of his fellow hobbits, he had replaced his uncle Bilbo as "Mad Baggins." He wished to be as unnoticed as he once had been when he would slip on the Ring to avoid the unwelcome attentions of the Sackville-Bagginses.

Although there were no unbroken woods in the vicinity, there were plenty of coppices, and Legolas and Frodo, the latter almost as skilled as the former at passing unseen, went forth without being spied by anyone, for all that the sun had now risen above the trees. Only birds and foxes and other creatures marked their passage, and as these could be agents neither of Sauron nor of Saruman, Legolas and Frodo felt perfectly easy as they enjoyed a pleasant saunter through a countryside that scarcely showed any sign that it had ever been touched by the Great War of the Ring. True, on occasion they would come across the stumps of trees that had been felled by order of 'Sharkey', as Saruman had been nicknamed, but around those stumps stood thick stands of saplings, some planted under the direction of Samwise Gamgee, others having sprung up of their own volition, as if Nature were determined to remedy the hurts that had been inflicted upon the land.

Although their destination lay to the east, they hiked southwest for a short distance to make for a plank-bridge that crossed The Water, a grand name for a smallish tributary of the Brandywine River. 'You would think', Bilbo had once huffed, 'that this stream were the only one in all of Middle-earth. **The** Water, indeed! Why, even without a bridge, one could still cross that creek without wetting the hair on one's feet!' Bilbo had exaggerated, of course, and Frodo smiled fondly at the memory of the old hobbit's indignation. 'It does seem a smallish river, though', he mused to himself, 'especially when one has seen the Brandywine breach its banks as the mighty Baranduin—and when one has seen the Anduin and the Falls of Rauros!'

Legolas and Frodo were following the path taken by Frodo when, accompanied by Pippin and Sam, he had first departed Bag End for Crickhollow with Black Riders in pursuit. If anything, though, the elf and hobbit were being even more surreptitious than Frodo had been earlier, for from the moment they stepped forth, the pair avoided the lane. Frodo began to apologize for the roughness of their path, but Legolas stayed him. "Your hobbit neighbors are not as fearsome as Black Riders," the elf smiled, "but I understand why you are averse to being seen by these villagers. If it would comfort you, know that Aragorn sometimes dreaded entering Bree and suchlike settlements, for he knew he should be mocked at best and assailed at worst—although he was never set upon twice by the same Men, for I assure you that he knew how to handle himself in a melee!"

Frodo laughed with more cheer than he had in several days, for in his mind's eye he saw the dumbfounded bullies, their ballooning bluster first inspired and then pricked by an unprepossessing Ranger whose worn garments and broken sword had lulled the rogues into thinking that they were his betters. "I am afraid, though," he chuckled, "that I could not give as good an account of myself as Aragorn were I to be challenged by the Sheriffs as a person of doubtful virtue."

"Account? There is no one in the Shire who could give a better account of himself! Indeed," Legolas exclaimed, "there are few in Middle-earth who could give a better account of himself."

Frodo shook his head. "It is an account no one wishes to hear."

"No one? I'll wager that, in years to come, your tale will be one of the best known in all of Middle-earth."

"In years to come, perhaps," Frodo said neutrally. "At the moment, it has no appeal for it lacks a hero that folk find appealing."

Legolas looked at Frodo in astonishment. "**You** are the hero!"

"I'm not the right **sort** of hero," replied Frodo, still speaking dispassionately. "I slew no one in valiant battle, and I am not the one who destroyed the Ring—not directly, anyway. If I am a hero, it is because Gollum was alive to bear the Ring into the chasm. If I am a hero, it is because I did not slay Gollum when I had the chance, for I recognized that I was he, he me. It's a fine sort of hero who is one only because he is—not one! Folk don't want heroes that are heroes because they recognize they are not heroes."

Legolas had been told the story of Bilbo's birthday party, when the old hobbit had said, 'I don't know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve', a convoluted statement that was still being parsed by those amongst the hobbits who fancied themselves grammarians. Legolas was able to work through the nephew's sentence faster than the hobbits had been able to work through the uncle's, but for a moment the elf thought he understood how Bilbo's guests must have felt.

"I suppose," the elf said, "that some folk want to believe their heroes perfect, but I think that a hero is one who struggles and overcomes. You struggled and overcame—yourself. That was the hardest struggle anyone in the Fellowship fought, for a person must find it difficult to see himself as his own enemy. It is so much easier to know whom to fight when the enemy is without, and it is so much easier when striking at the enemy causes no pain to oneself. I am sorry that the Shire folk are looking for a simple sort of hero. There is an adage among Men: A prophet is not without honor, but in his own country, and among his own kin, and in his own house. So it is with you. In the Shire you are not honored as you should be, but do not forget that in Gondor the scops sing the lay of "Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of Doom." Aye, and they will sing it for generations, and when the tale is no longer sung, it will live on in books, in the chronicles and histories that folk will pore over, awed at the achievements of those who lived during the Great Years."

Frodo smiled gratefully at Legolas, but he looked wan, and he rubbed at his shoulder, the same one, Legolas remembered, that had been pierced by a Morgul blade. "We should make camp," the elf said gently. "That coppice yonder will serve."

The two friends found a small clearing in the center of the coppice and unbuckled their packs. The sky was cloudless, so it was not necessary to erect a shelter, and after spreading their bed rolls, they quickly set about preparing supper. Frodo fetched water from a nearby stream, and Legolas built a fire. The elf had some strips of smoked venison in his pack, but Frodo ate only bread and fruit. They both drank the tea that Frodo brewed, Legolas long ago having become accustomed to the beverage during days spent in the company of Gandalf.

After their simple but satisfying supper, Frodo fell asleep at once, but Legolas lay awake, resting on his side, one arm bent at the elbow, his head resting upon his palm. ''Tis a beauteous evening, calm and free', he thought happily to himself. Suddenly his reverie was broken by a slight movement from the tree line nearest the banked fire. The elf made a show of gaping and stretching and then lay flat; but he did not fully close his eyes, and beneath his partially lowered lashes he watched as a figure slithered into the clearing. It slunk on all fours, but it was no animal, for it was clad in rags that hung from its gangly body. Reaching the camp kettle, the creature scrabbled at the vessel's handle with bony fingers. Perplexed at what the creature might be, Legolas continued to watch intently. Above him, the clouds still scudded. A sliver of moonlight found an opening, and the face of the creature was suddenly revealed. Centuries of training did not suffice to restrain Legolas's reaction. "Gollum!" he cried in astonishment.

Instantly, the creature dropped the kettle and began to scuttle from the clearing, but just as quickly Legolas recovered from his amazement. Drawing his blade, he sprang after the creature. Throwing himself upon it, he raised his knife. "I do not know how you escaped the destruction of Orodruin," he swore, "but you will not evade your fate a second time!"

Yet before the elf could bring down the blade, his wrist was seized by a small but powerful hand. "Stay!" cried Frodo. "'Tis not Gollum! I swear to you that Gollum died in the fires of Mount Doom."

Legolas looked down at the being that writhed beneath him. "Then what is this creature?" he asked in confusion. His captive hissed. "Sssandy sssandy we isss ssssandy man," he gurgled.

Frodo let go of Legolas's wrist, and the elf lowered his hand. "He _**is**_ very dirty," the Elf mused. "I suppose he could be described as a sandy man."

Frodo shook his head sadly. "Not a sandy man," he said. "Sandyman. His surname. Ted Sandyman was a miller, as was his father and grandfather before him. His craft was an honorable one. But he was seduced by the promises made him by Saruman's servants, and he became a servant himself, all the while thinking that he was on a fair way toward achieving mastery over his fellows. Greed! Greed for power and wealth! That was his downfall."

The erstwhile miller had stopped struggling and now commenced to whimper. Disgusted, Legolas arose. But he did not sheathe his knife as he stood looking down upon the cringing creature—for he could not find it within himself to call the sandy man a hobbit.

"What is to be done with it?" he mused aloud. "For surely it is past amendment!"

Frodo hesitated. He wanted to gainsay Legolas and argue instead that Ted Sandyman could be restored to his former state. But it had been otherwise with Gollum. "Once I would have disputed vigorously with you," he said slowly. "Yet Sandyman's actions may seem to suggest that there **may** be something to what you say. He could have made amends for the wrongs he did his fellows. They would have forgiven him, and he could have taken up his former craft. Perhaps he would have been respected less than formerly, but no one would have shunned him or treated him ill. Yet he spurned all offers of kindness and skulked about, pilfering from his neighbors and quarreling with them until, their patience failing, they drove him from their midst. Since then he has been lurking about the borders of our settlements, stealing whatever he can carry off and spoiling the rest."

Legolas fingered his knife. "Well, then he must be put down like the beast he is. Yes," he argued at Frodo's expression, "if a dog repeatedly attacked your flocks, you would not hesitate to do so."

"Yet, for all that I have said, he is not a dog," Frodo replied.

"How is his behavior different from that of a cur run wild?"

"He is not a dog," Frodo repeated. "It is possible that there will always be something of the Smeagol about him. It may be hidden deep within; it may never gain the ascendancy over the Gollum that also dwells within; but it is part of him nonetheless. Therefore let no man slay him save at great need—or do you deem stealing the leavings from a camp kettle to be a capital offense?"

Legolas looked a little sheepish at that last remark, but he did not abandon the argument. "As of yet he may have done little harm, but he may be capable of worse," he shot back.

"Oh, as to that, then we had better all be executed," Frodo retorted. "For there is not a one of us incapable of evil. Indeed, best kill the child in the cradle, for you will have no surety otherwise."

Frodo spoke that last sentence as if in jest, but a twist of his mouth betrayed him.

"That is Sauron speaking," the elf said gently, his ire vanishing as he saw the sadness within his friend.

"It is the truth," Frodo said bleakly. "Even Sauron could speak the truth, though he twisted it for his own ends."

"The Ring is gone, Frodo."

"That's the horror of it," the hobbit replied. "The Ring didn't put the evil into folk; it tricked people into revealing their greed and their selfishness, but it didn't draw out anything that wasn't already hidden inside them."

This was a troubling notion, worse even than Gandalf's gloomy prognostication that Sauron was only an emissary of a greater evil to come. That this greater evil should already be there, that it should be hidden within the most ordinary of folk—that was a prospect more dreadful than the thought that an evil from afar should assail Arda. For an intruder could be recognized and repelled, but how was one to defeat a foe hidden within folk as they went about their everyday business?

"How indeed?" said Frodo, who had become uncannily elf-like in his ability to read his friend's face. "Legolas, have you so quickly forgotten your own words—that a hero is not always one who defeats a foe who is outside him but may be one who instead masters himself? Now I ask you to master the repugnance that you feel toward this creature. It is true that I cannot guarantee his amendment, but he is not the Ring. Gandalf once said that the Ring was altogether evil; corrupted though he be, I dare not say the same of Ted Sandyman."

Now Legolas felt even more sheepish. He huffed, but he sheathed his knife. "What are we to do with the creature, then, as you will not see him slain? Shall we take him to the Lockholes?"

Frodo shook his head. "Until Saruman and his slaves took over the Shire, those Lockholes were used for nothing more than to provide safe lodging for lads who had had overmuch to drink. No provision has ever been made for a continual guard, and I should be loath to see such a custom take root now."

"Then I ask you again, what are we to do with him? Surely you don't mean to set him loose to continue his thievery and mischief-making."

"He needs sanctuary," Frodo said slowly. "A refuge—but not the Lockholes. That's it!" he suddenly cried. "A refuge. Crickhollow! A modest dwelling, but comfortable, with a good garden, and not too close to any neighbors. Ted, would you like a roof over your head, out of the cold and the rain, where you can be your own master?"

"My own master," Ted Sandyman repeated.

"Aye, your own master. No one to bother you. A garden to keep you. And a cow. There shall be a cow. Milk every day. Hens, so you shall have eggs. You can sell the eggs, too. And the milk, for there will be more than you can drink, I'll warrant. The money will keep you in clothes, of which you are badly in need. Would you like that?"

"A refuge," said Ted Sandyman wonderingly. "My own master," he added.

"Aye. Now, then, you are hungry, for you were scrabbling about in that kettle. Nothing but tea leaves in the bottom of it, though. Here's something more satisfying: bread and cheese and an apple."

Sandyman devoured the proffered food as if he hadn't eaten in days, which may have been very nearly the truth. While Sandyman ate, Frodo pulled spare breeches and tunic from his pack, and after the erstwhile miller had satisfied his hunger, Frodo gave him the garments. Frodo was not the stoutest of hobbits, but Sandyman was so shrunken that the clothes hung loosely on him. Still, after Sandyman had eaten and dressed himself, Legolas had to concede that the hobbit didn't look quite as much like Gollum. Nevertheless, even though Sandyman was soon snoring as if he were deeply asleep, Legolas was still suspicious enough of the former miller to keep watch the entire night.

"He won't kill us in our sleep," Frodo yawned. "He hasn't got enough spirit."

"He might steal our packs," Legolas shot back.

"Small price to pay for a good night's sleep," Frodo mumbled.

"For you maybe, o magnanimous hobbit, but those knives are a gift from Elladan and Elrohir, those boots were given me by Erestor, and that whetstone was entrusted to me by Glorfindel. I would rather not have Sandyman striding about in **my **boots, sharpening **my **knives on **my **whetstone."

"Sounds a bit like **my** precious," Frodo chuckled sleepily. Before Legolas could protest, the hobbit began to snore and was soon as deeply asleep as Sandyman. During the entire night, Legolas noted happily, his friend rubbed his shoulder no more than twice, and muttered '**my** precious' only once.


End file.
